Hollowed
by Lily Zen
Summary: A redemption story. Jenny returns to NYC due to a family crisis, and tries to make amends. AU. Future-fic. Eventual Nate/Jenny.
1. Chapter 1

Hollowed

Chapter One

Fandom: Gossip Girl

Pairing: Nate/Jenny

Rating: M

Warnings: smut (pretty tame in this chapter, though I'm sure it'll get worse)

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

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><p>Notes: This story takes place during Jenny and Eric's sophomore year of college after all of the crazy events in S3 and S4. Since we're still in S5, and this story would take place mid-S6, please consider this an AU beginning from S5's mid-season break.<p>

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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><p><em>There's a hand tangled in her hair, the grip tight and desperate. She gasps, and the sound is swallowed by his hungry mouth. Between her thighs is a heavy bass throb as her pulse and her desire are ratcheted higher and higher. Like he knows—he <em>must_ know because her wanton moaning surely is a dead giveaway—his other hand slides from her waist, over the bunched fabric of her dress, slipping underneath the high hem and onto her feverish skin, seeking out that raging need. Deft fingertips find their way beneath her skimpy underwear and to the slippery channel it had hidden. She shudders, feeling her body tense embarrassingly…_

…and came with a cry, flinging herself back into the cold reality of another morning in London, the early light pale and weak on her still-white bedroom walls.

She was wet, and her limbs were still a little tingly, body forced into ecstasy by the intensity of her dream. Jenny hoped her subconscious mind would have given up the thoughts of him as her conscious mind had long ago. She hadn't liked herself in New York, hadn't liked the person that chasing after him, chasing after her dreams had turned her into. She'd done horrible things; mostly to the people she cared about, all in an effort to…what? Be someone popular, someone people respected, feared, _loved_? She had failed on all counts. Her machinations had left her with nothing but a broken heart, a twisted spirit, and the surety that if she was ever going to heal either she had to get away from the Upper East Side. However, her subconscious mind was stubborn and no matter how hard she told herself to _let go_, a part of it remained firmly tethered to NYC and the world she'd left behind.

With a sigh, the young woman glanced down at herself, body still lost underneath the covers, and glared. "Get yourself under control, ladybits."

"Jen?" Eric's voice echoed through their shared flat.

She jumped, eyes darting toward the closed bedroom door guiltily, wondering if Eric had heard…well, _anything_. Weren't wet dreams supposed to be the sole territory of the opposite sex, and not something a nineteen year old girl should have to deal with? It was all that stupid movie's fault. Eric had just broken up with his latest boyfriend—he was burning through the male portion of the student body at Saint Martin's pretty quickly—and was feeling a little down in the dumps, so he'd suggested an evening of chick flicks and junk food. It was just her luck that the male lead in one of the movies had reminded her so strongly of…

Jenny stopped her thoughts right there. She may not have been able to control herself in R.E.M. sleep, but it was certainly within her power to do so now. She _would not_ think about him. It had been years; he'd forgotten about her, everyone had, and it was time to _move on_.

"Jen? You up? Come on, you asked me to make sure you were up early today. Something about a super important meeting?"

"Oh, bloody balls!" Jenny shouted as she exploded out of bed in a tangle of blankets and limbs. Living in London, she hadn't picked up a faux-Brit accent like Madonna, but she had picked up a few quaint phrases, mostly curse words, from her new friends.

She stumbled out of her bedroom; platinum hair in disarray, pajamas twisted around uncomfortably, and barked at her step-brother, "What time is it?"

Standing in the kitchen with his palms flat on the breakfast counter, leaning over the morning paper, Eric glanced at the microwave clock. "Six-thirty," he replied in his I'm-slightly-amused-at-your-situation voice before he turned the page. It was a tone he'd learned from living with Chuck, though when Chuck used it, it always seemed more sinister; Eric was only sinister as a last resort.

She practically ran across the living room into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her, and began stripping in a hurry. There was something warm and weak inside of her that begged her to slow down as she stepped under the punishingly hot spray, to take her time and maybe let her soapy hands glide a little lower. Surely she could afford a few extra minutes to…to ease the loneliness from her limbs, to try and capture just a little bit of that golden, hazy feeling.

_No_, Jenny told herself, and to keep focused on the task at hand she scrubbed even harder, scrubbed the traitorous thoughts away.

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><p>The meeting with her advisor went okay, Jenny thought as she made her way to her classes, though some of what she'd said had disturbed her rather than reassured.<p>

"_I'm concerned that maybe Saint Martin's isn't offering you enough of a challenge." _

"_But…my grades are great. I don't understand where this is coming from." _

"_That's the point, Jennifer. You're coasting through your classes. What if you get bored?" _

She was already bored, which she hated to admit. London was fun. She had friends, friends who had no idea that in high school she'd terrorized the Upper East Side, that she'd allowed her step-sister to be drugged by a crazy person, that her own family barely wanted anything to do with her anymore. Eric was the only person she had really who'd stuck by her side through the good times and the bad. He forgave her and loved her despite all of the asinine things she'd said, and the terrible things she'd perpetrated. Even her own father handled her with wary eyes. Jenny was still trying to rebuild that bridge, though it was harder with an ocean between them.

The point was that in London nobody knew her, knew just how badly she'd messed up. She was free to be judged on the mistakes she'd made in the short time on that island. Nobody called her Little J or the Queen, or whispered under their breath about her past misdeeds. Nobody knew that she'd fucked Chuck Bass, or even who Chuck Bass was, and nobody fucking cared either! She had the clean slate she'd craved, finally.

The only problem was that her advisor was right, she was coasting. It wasn't really her fault. She'd interned at Eleanor Waldorf Designs for a long time, and tried to start her own line before. Sometimes taking classes on the subject seemed a little redundant. She still did all the work and got high marks, but she admitted that most of it was passionless, pyrite when compared to her real designs. Her inspiration was lacking. No, no, it wasn't that exactly. Her _life_ was lacking, and because she spent her days wandering in a half-asleep daze, the only creations she produced seemed drab and lifeless.

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><p><em>10:55 A.M. Wanna go out tonight? –E<em>

_10:57 A.M. If it involves another gay bar, fuck off. –J_

_10:58 A.M. *sigh* Fine, we can go to a regular bar. *grumble* -E_

_10:59 A.M. Don't put yourself out on my account. There's a rebound guy out there somewhere with your name written right above his asshole. It's rude to keep him waiting. ;) –J_

_11:02 A.M. Idk whether I love you or hate you for that comment. How about we go to a party on campus then? I can find Rebound Guy, and you can get the bats out of your belfry. Lol! –E_

_11:05 A.M. Hate you. :P Ok, party on campus. And I do not have bats! :\-J_

_11:06 A.M. Do so. Walls aren't that thick, J. –E_

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><p>Jenny hit the lock button on her phone before she typed out an angry response, and deliberately dropped it into the bowels of her book bag. How utterly mortifying that her step-brother and best freaking friend knew that she was…um. There wasn't even a word for what she was!<p>

She floated through the rest of her classes, and went back to the flat alone. Eric started his classes later than she did, and because of that she usually beat him home. The apartment was empty, silent. Without him there it seemed more like a tomb than a home. She dropped her keys into the kitschy ceramic bowl that Eric had made in his pottery class last semester. The asymmetrical sides bent and folded oddly, reminding her of the way flowers looked when you peered straight into their centers, thin petals protecting the delicate core. It was glazed in pale, peachy-pink, the uppermost edge done in bone, the color deliberately left to drip messily down the sides. He'd given it to her as a gift. Jenny had always thought it a strange gesture, a strange piece for a gay man to make, but then again, she thought as she looked down at it, maybe Eric just couldn't see it the way she did. To him it was just a bowl.

It was then, staring down at a piece of pottery and thinking inappropriate thoughts, that Jenny decided maybe Eric was right, maybe it was time to get back on the horse, so to speak. Her last boyfriend had broken up with her months ago. He'd claimed she was distant, never really there. She'd suggested coolly that maybe if he was more interesting she wouldn't be so goddamn bored, a hint of the old Queen J rising up to remind her that she would never really be gone, she would never really die. Those bad habits and negative facets were a part of her, the less attractive parts to be sure, but parts none the less.

She dressed with care and deliberation, wearing a sinfully short red dress, the kind that made her legs look like they went on forever and dipped just low enough in the front to show a hint of barely-there cleavage. Even at nineteen Jenny was still tall and thin. She'd grown out of her high school gawkiness, grown into her limbs and her features, and thank god, gotten a little curvier though she still wished every day for a miracle that would result in breasts just one cup size bigger. She still preferred more of a rock and roll look, but she'd toned it down. No more white face-powder and dark, creepy lips. Jenny was still pale, would always be pale, but it was her natural skin tone again, neutral lip stain, and dramatic eyes for the party that night. The red dress was paired with black riding boots and a leather jacket, and she felt very Project Alice from the first _Resident Evil_ flick. It looked stunning with her platinum waves, and she forced herself to smile in the mirror, to put some sparkle in her deep blue eyes.

Eric came home while she was heating up leftovers to scarf down, smiling at her as he tossed his keys unthinkingly in the vagina bowl. "Hey," he greeted her cheerfully, "Make anything for me?"

"Nope," she shot back with a grin, "You're on your own."

"Dick-lick."

"Cum-bucket."

They shared a fond smile after the exchange, and for a moment Jenny felt almost normal, almost anchored, almost real. Then Eric turned away as he walked toward the fridge, and she felt that sense of connectedness fade away, a sea of ennui rushing in to replace it. She waited for Eric to heat up his leftover pizza, and join her at the kitchen counter. They preferred to eat there, using their kitchen table as a place to do homework and projects instead of its intended purpose.

"How was class?" she asked more out of habit and a need to appease his expectation than an actual desire to know.

"Pretty good. I'm really into the architecture class I took this semester."

"Yeah? Well, that's good," she smiled, "Maybe you'll even settle on a major this year."

Eric grinned back at her.

She knew the real reason why he'd never settled on a major, and it wasn't for lack of trying. Eric was a great friend, and an even better brother. He knew her better than anyone, and he knew how much she'd struggled through her year of exile in Hudson, how depressed she'd been, how lonely. He hadn't come to London out of any great desire to attend Saint Martin's, he'd come for her, to keep her company and be the rock she so desperately needed. No one had ever been able to see that for all her bravado, she was really quite sensitive. She'd been poised on the edge of doing something drastic, and Eric had been the only one who saw, the only one who cared enough to pull her back from the precipice. He'd reached out to her when no one else would dare to try anymore, and she had let him sacrifice for her, giving up his family, his friends, his life in New York for her, to rescue her. Jenny wasn't sure if she'd ever be worthy of such a thing.

They talked more, but it was like the threads of the conversation were little eels, and they kept slipping out of her grasp. Finally, Eric looked at her with an expression of fond exasperation in his dark eyes, and wondered, "Where's your head at?"

Jenny just smiled, her eyes crinkling.

Eric laughed and hugged her briefly with one arm as he got up, snagging their plates and depositing them in the sink. "Always daydreaming," he murmured fondly, and nudged her. "Come on, let's go party."

"It's kind of early," she frowned, "Don't you think?"

Shrugging, her dark-haired friend replied, "It'll take me ten minutes to get all hotted up, then we're leaving. I have it on good authority that there's going to be a jam session in the student union before the party, and my latest crush is going to be there."

"Ooh," Jenny teased, "Convert or openly gay?"

Eric laughed as he walked into his bedroom. "You'll see!" he called over his shoulder.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, five of which were spent in the bathroom, Eric came back out to find Jenny paging idly through a magazine. She looked up, grinning at him. He looked good, she decided. If he was straight, and she was…well, he'd have had a shot. Eric was a little more petite than she liked her guys, but he looked good in her designs, in the hunter green skinny jeans he was wearing, the graphic t-shirt she'd made him four months ago, and a cardigan that she was pretty sure he'd borrowed from her. Eric never would have worn any of those things in New York. No, he'd always been a khakis-and-a-button-up kind of guy, probably in some misguided effort to keep his gayness more low-key on the Upper East Side, not that everybody didn't already know thanks to Gossip Girl. His short, dark hair was a little spiked on top, adding some lightness to his very thick hair, and his jeans were tucked into his combat boots. Her eyebrow went up.

"Trying to impress someone?" she wondered with a little smirk.

He grinned unrepentantly. "You think it'll work."

"If your goal was to look as 'art school-chic' as possible, then yes."

"Anus."

"Penile implant."

"Ooh, ouch," Eric rubbed his hand over his heart mournfully, though there was still a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Well, shall we?" he offered her a hand off of the couch.

"We shall," Jenny agreed with a lightness she didn't feel.

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><p>Eric's latest crush was a cute, blond haired guitar player. He smiled at Eric in the group of students clustered around listening to the musicians play, and from the way that Eric smiled back at him Jenny knew she was getting ditched at some point that night. It seemed Eric was already over his mourning period for the last what's-his-face. Not that he wasn't entitled to having some fun; Eric had pretty much been a grown-up his whole life, and college was finally the place where he could loosen up a little. She didn't mind all that much if he ducked out on a lame college party to go hang with a guy he liked. Hell, if she liked anybody, she'd be ducking out too.<p>

The party was on the fourth floor of the co-ed dormitory, which was a pretty short walk from the union. She and Eric walked with the blond guitarist, his soft case looped over his shoulders, and she let Eric carry the conversation, dragging her feet so that she walked a few paces behind. When they made it up there, Jenny found a stereotypical red plastic cup pushed into her hand full of mediocre beer, and a group of her friends from class caught sight of her down the hallway.

"Jen! Jenn-ay! Get over here, girl!" One of her female friends jumped up and down wildly, trying to catch Jenny's attention.

With a smile and a shrug, Jenny dismissed herself from Eric's company, leaving him to his new conquest, and moved around the overwhelming press of bodies in the hallway toward the open door that Frankie was hovering in.

"Hey!" Frankie cried, wrapping arms around her. She was a small, spunky thing with multi-colored hair kept short and pixie-like. Her real name was Francine, but she hated it and made everybody call her Frankie instead. They'd met last year during Jenny's first semester there, and become fast friends. "I didn't know you were coming tonight! You should have called. I'd have met you outside. Come on," Frankie tugged her by the hand inside the dorm room, still talking a mile a minute.

Jenny made all the right sounds and movements, her expression was perfectly animated, but underneath the thin veneer of normalcy she still felt as though something was missing.

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><p>She was half a bottle of vodka into the night. Thank god the rich kids had shown up, bringing with them the quality stuff. Jenny was still good at getting what she wanted, and it was fairly easy to sidle up to a tall boy with dark blond hair and deep blue eyes. He was wearing a Lacoste sweater and had come in with the wealthier kids.<p>

Her smile was resplendent.

"Hi, I'm Jen."

He smiled back at her, dimples flashing in his tan skin, and leaned in close to tell her his name. "Brad."

"You're cute," she told him point-blank, and the grin she got in return held exactly what she needed it to—surprise, a little embarrassment, gratitude, interest. He was hooked, and he didn't even have a clue. They drank together, Grey Goose sliding down their throats, thin and harsh, its burn singing through her seductively. Supposedly it's the best vodka or one of the best, the smoothest. Vodka is vodka though, and when it goes down it's bitter and falls into her gut like a little drop of lava no matter how much it costs, no matter how many awards it wins. That's okay though, she liked the burn. It spread through her, warming up her limbs, and the icy darkness within her.

Brad's hands took care of the rest.

She didn't even bother to take him home. Truth be told, she didn't want to. That was her space, her sanctuary, and she couldn't bear to take him in the same bed where she slept, where she dreamt, where she thought about _him_.

Instead they went down the hall to the floor's bathroom and locked themselves inside a stall. They fucked with her hands locked over the metal edge of the wall, her slender legs wrapped around his hips; he fucked her into a bright, hot oblivion. Jenny's teeth sank into her bottom lip as her body clenched and shook, inner muscles milking the anonymous boy of his desire. She came silently, but for a gasping breath as her orgasm ceased, not wanting to risk words or noise lest something undesirable escape her.

She left him in the bathroom alone, a wad of toilet paper crammed into her purse to wipe away the evidence of her misdeeds as she walked back to the flat. She hadn't even wanted to stay that long.

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><p><em>1:52 A.M. Leaving. –J<em>

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><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Hollowed

Chapter Two

Fandom: Gossip Girl

Pairing: Nate/Jenny

Rating: M

Warnings: idk

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

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><p>Notes: Yes, this chapter is significantly shorter. I'm still getting a feel for Nate.<p>

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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><p>He was pacing again. Nate usually wasn't much of a pacer, but some things just required pacing, he thought. Sometimes movement helped jog loose the thoughts that were stuck halfway between raw emotion and words. His office seemed small that day like it was slowly shrinking or maybe he was growing, or maybe it was just the tightness in his chest making him think in circles. And no, he wasn't high. For the most part he'd given up on those kinds of coping devices. It was a crutch, and one he certainly couldn't afford to be leaning on if he was expected to run a newspaper and make important decisions with a level head. Besides, he was pretty turned off to the whole druggie lifestyle after watching his dad destroy his life in a cocaine storm.<p>

He glanced at the huge monitor that displayed their website almost continuously, every update flashing before his eyes, and felt a bitter burn somewhere deep inside. He liked his job, and he was good at it. Those facts only served to infuriate him more, because the knowledge that he only had this job due to his grandfather's machinations underscored it all, tainted it. He was only a success because his grandfather had maneuvered him into being one. He was just another pawn in his grandfather's game, just like Tripp and Maureen and his mom. Everyone was just there to be moved at grandfather's whim.

That pissed him off.

So Nate was caught, finally. Oh, sure, he'd written that editorial about how he wasn't going to let his family ties get in the way of doing his job, but in a way they always would. Every day was a reminder that he'd been manipulated into this job, this office, this _life_ until he wasn't even sure if he'd chosen it for himself, if he really wanted it. Maybe he wanted to be a pineapple farmer in Hawaii. He didn't, but that was beside the point.

The point was that there were so many other options out there. He hadn't really known what he wanted to do with his life yet; he was barely twenty-one, he was entitled to some soul-searching and experimentation and uncertainty. The reason he'd taken the job at the Spectator to begin with was to figure out if this was something he wanted to do. He liked it fine, but was liking it enough? Shouldn't he be passionate about what he did? Shouldn't he love it?

Besides, now that he knew it was his grandfather who'd been responsible for his placement at the Spectator, and for putting him in charge, Nate was finally getting an idea of what the bigger picture was. Grandfather figured Nate would build up his reputation as a journalist, and then a few years down the road somehow Nate would find himself a mogul or being swayed into politics, doing something to increase the value of the Vanderbilt name and line his family's coffers with yet more wealth and prestige.

He didn't want to be that guy, just another stupid marionette dancing whenever his grandfather jerked his strings.

At least Nate thought he didn't want to be that guy.

He wasn't really sure anymore what he wanted, and that was the fundamental problem.

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><p>The work day was done. He'd made some tough decisions, been the big boss, and firmly ignored the little voice in the back of his mind that whispered 'phony.' Nate remembered reading <em>Catcher in the Rye<em> his freshmen year at St. Jude's. Yeah, he actually read it. At first he'd just flipped it open, resolved to skim the pages and go to Spark Notes for the important information. However, Holden Caulfield's narrative so laden with disgust for the world around him had actually caught Nate's attention. He'd wound up flipping back to the first page and starting over, devouring it from cover to cover.

He could almost hear Holden's scathing critique of Nate's life at that moment.

Turn it off, he told himself, stop thinking.

His cell started ringing, thankfully interrupting his internal argument. "Hello?"

"Nate," Serena's voice sounded tinny in his ear, "What's up?"

He smiled a little. There may not have been any more romantic feelings between him and Serena, but she would always be his friend. That was important to him especially as he realized more and more as he got older that true friends were rare. Too many times he'd placed his trust in the wrong people. Serena, for all her flaws, was still 'the right people.'

"Hey, Serena. Not much. What's up with you?"

"Just wondering what you're doing, if maybe you want to come keep me company and grab something to eat. Normally you know I wouldn't bother you, especially since we just spent eight hours together at the office, but…well, you looked a little off today. I think maybe you need the company just as much as I do," she responded.

"That sounds good. Should I come pick you up?"

"Yeah, I'm at Blair's," Serena replied.

"Yep. Bye, Serena."

"See you soon," she told him an instant before both hung up their phones.

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><p>His town car pulled up outside of the Waldorfs' building at quarter after seven, and he went up to get Serena because he was a gentleman, and that's what gentleman did. The elevator whirred discretely as it took him up to the penthouse, the glide so smooth he hardly knew that he was moving. The door opened with a soft whoosh, and he stepped out into the foyer of the marble-and-mahogany apartment. The black and white tiles alternated like a chess board, and he couldn't help but think that was somehow ironically apt. There'd been a time when Blair's apartment was practically his second home, and he'd borne witness to much of Blair's manipulating there. When they were dating, he'd been aware that he was mostly just another pawn to her, an accessory like her headbands and jewelry, but Nate had chosen to focus on the good in Blair rather than dwell on the bad.<p>

Maybe he should have been a little more discerning, but still he couldn't find it in himself to regret their relationship or anything that had happened. It had resulted in a pretty great friendship, just like his time with Serena. He wondered if maybe there wasn't some subconscious pattern going on there, but then he thought about his other exes and how he definitely wasn't friends with any of them, and discarded the idea. He was not addicted to girls that were determined to slot him in the 'just friends' column.

There was a sense of homecoming as he walked into the penthouse. None of the decorations had changed despite the fact that Blair's mother now spent most of her time in Paris with her second husband, and that Serena had moved in. Nothing in their lives had really changed at all. Nate was constantly saying things about how he wanted to be different from the rest of his family, but was he really? The years had worn him down, and he now found that he was almost as much of a schemer and manipulator as the rest of his friends. The thought scared him a little, because he was pretty sure that once upon a time their families had been young schemers too saying how they didn't want to be anything like their parents as they slowly turned into carbon-copies of the very people they loathed.

Dorota bustled out of the kitchen, a papoose looped over her black maid's uniform, and a sleeping baby cradled in it. "Mister Nate," she smiled and greeted him with her voice just a step above a whisper, "Miss Serena is upstairs. Have a seat, and I go get her for you."

With a smile, he nodded, and watched Dorota climb the staircase, vanishing as it began to curve. He'd forgotten that Dorota's second child was due. It was nice of Blair to let her bring the baby to work with her. Then he thought back to when Dorota's first kid was born, and the women had spent months cooing over the new baby. Blair had a soft spot for Dorota. The Polish maid had pretty much raised Blair; naturally, she'd be attached to Dorota's children as well.

Serena descended the stairs a few minutes later. She was still tall and golden, looking stunning in a gold cocktail dress and heels, though Nate realized as he stared at her making her grand entrance that the sight just didn't move him the way it once would have when they were younger. He was well and truly over Serena, which was something that he'd once thought would never happen. Her cornsilk waterfall of hair, those gray-blue eyes, legs that went on for days… She was still beautiful, but it was like he was looking at a piece of art rather than something he'd once craved to be able to touch. She smiled at him; he returned the gesture, and it was warm with the affection of one friend to another.

"Nate," she greeted him, her voice its usual raw silk, "You didn't have to come up. You could have just let the doorman call up." She rounded the last stair and they hugged briefly.

He shrugged one shoulder and told her flippantly, "Hey, my mother raised me right."

Serena chuckled, and linked her arm through his as they hit the call button for the elevator again.

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><p>Dinner took place at a nice restaurant, because that's just who they were. When he was younger Nate was uncomfortable with his wealth, and felt undeserving of all the advantages it gave him. Then his father embezzled from his company, and rather than own up to his mistakes, he'd fled the country. Nate had gone from being rich to poor overnight when the government froze their accounts, reduced to squatting in his repossessed family home just to go to school. The entire thing had been a humbling experience, and it had taught him something very important: being poor sucked. The restoration of his family's money after his father had finally turned himself in was the best thing to ever happen to him, and now that Nate had that comfort again, he found that he wasn't as embarrassed by it as he'd once been; having money, having the <em>security<em> that money provided, was a good thing.

Their entrees had just been cleared away when Serena's cell phone rang. She smiled apologetically, and told him, "I have to get this. It's my mom." She answered the phone at the table, calling out, "Hey, mom." Serena moved to put her napkin on the table, but paused in the middle of the motion. "What? Wait, mom, slow down, take a breath…oh god, okay, I'll be right there. Have you called Dan yet? I'll see you soon." She hung up and turned panicked eyes to Nate, blurting out, "I have to go to the hospital. Rufus is there. They…they're saying he's had a heart attack."

"Oh, Jesus," Nate sighed, and passed his palm through his hair, "Okay, let's pay. I'll drive you."

He handed his credit card to their server while she was on her way to another table, and impressed on her their sense of urgency. After she'd delivered her tray, she went to the pay station and pulled up their bill. A scribbled signature, and he and Serena were on their way again, sliding into the back of the town car.

"Mount Sinai E.R.," Serena ordered the driver before she'd even fully settled in her seat.

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><p>Lily was standing in a corner of the waiting room, just standing, still as a statue in her designer clothes, the beautiful slate blue cowl-necked sweater, her gray trousers, and heels, the refined elegance of her chignon at odds with the desperation and intensity in her eyes as they fixated on the closed doors to the emergency area where she wasn't allowed to go just yet, not until they'd stabilized him.<p>

Nate was a little embarrassed by the relief that flooded her face when he and Serena walked into her field of vision. He felt like he was intruding. This should have been a private, family affair. Nate was Serena and Dan's friend, and he eternally owed Rufus a debt of gratitude for letting him live with them during the whole 'I have no money and no place to live' incident, but he still wasn't their family.

Serena's grip on his arm was tight and her fingers spasmed as she caught sight of her mother, reminding Nate that even if he wasn't family, he was as good as. Lily was going to need Serena to be her rock, but who would hold Serena's hand when the time came for her to break down and let out her fear? As her friend, Nate decided to take that responsibility onto his own shoulders. It was the least he could do.

"Mom!" Serena cried, dropping his sleeve, and rushed up to Lily, throwing her arms around the socialite's slender waist. Lily's grip was even tighter, fisting Serena's expensive dress in her fingers carelessly.

"Oh, Serena, thank you for coming," he heard Lily choke out, and then, "Nathaniel, come here." A hand lifted away from Serena's gold dress, waving him forwards, and tugging him into the embrace as well. "I'm glad you came as well." The hug was tight, but not uncomfortable. Instead it was rather familiar, a sense of warmth and homecoming radiating from Lily in a way that it never had from his own mother. Nate attributed it to the long history he had tied up with Lily and her family, much the same way he was eternally tied to Blair and the Waldorf penthouse.

"Is he okay?" he asked, not out of obligation, but out of genuine concern as he pulled away.

Serena discreetly tucked her mother's hand in her own like she was subconsciously trying to anchor Lily down.

Nate thought that probably wasn't too far from the truth. He'd seen Lily go through a lot of personal turmoil, most of it done publicly, but never had he seen her look quite like this. She looked bleak, pale, pinched around the eyes and mouth, and she leaned subconsciously into her daughter's side like she was seeking shelter. Rufus was the love of her life, had been for twenty years despite numerous other husbands and life getting in the way, and now they were finally together…and the fickle bitch, Fate, was threatening to take him away again.

Lily shook her head and bit her lip. "I don't know. They won't tell me anything yet. I—I came home and found him on the floor in the kitchen. I called 911 right away. I don't know what's happening." Her voice broke, and Nate felt something in his heart wrench. Watching the Humphrey clan go through another tragedy was almost worse than going through it himself.

"I'll see if I can get any information," Nate said, quietly excusing himself and walking up to the front desk. As he did so, Dan walked through the E.R. door, his dark curls a mess. He looked pale and worried, but he pulled up short when he saw Nate.

"Hey, man," Dan asked, "What's going on?"

"Uh, I was just about to ask," Nate nodded to the woman behind the desk who was looking up at them with a bored, expectant gaze.

"Okay," Dan sighed, "okay." He scrubbed his hands over his face, and seemed to shake himself. "I'm going to go talk to Lily." He walked off through the rows of hard, plastic chairs, the tails of his shapeless flannel shirt flying behind him as he met his stepmom and embraced her. It was one of the only times Nate had ever seen Dan really reach out to Lily that way, and that was how Nate knew just how shaken up Dan was.

He wondered then if anybody had bothered to call Jenny and Eric, and the thought sent a brief pang through his heart. Jesus, if Jenny's dad died while she was overseas, Nate couldn't even imagine how Jenny would react. He knew their relationship was tumultuous, but in the end Jenny adored her dad; she'd be devastated by his loss, but not being able to say goodbye.

As he walked up to the tired looking nurse, Nate made a note to ask if anybody had called Jenny. She needed to know what was happening here. He'd call her himself if he had to. Despite their complicated past, and the way their friendship had ended, Jenny still deserved more than to be brushed aside.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

Hollowed

Chapter Three

Fandom: Gossip Girl

Pairing: Nate/Jenny

Rating: M

Warnings: idk

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

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><p>Notes: Okay, so I'm just going to come out and say it. I hate the way Jenny's family members vilify her. During the show, she's just a teenager, and that age is very difficult for anyone. Add in some of the other craziness that was specific to Jenny's life, and I'm not surprised she went a bit off the rails. However, that (in this story) was two years ago, and still (in this story) they haven't entirely forgiven her. Not much time to work on relationships when the only time you see your family is during Christmas and maybe Spring Break. So at first Dan and Serena, and maybe even Rufus, are going to be pretty cool toward Jenny. Don't worry, the point of this story is to fix all the stuff I don't like, so eventually that will get better. Just bear with me.<p>

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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><p>She got the call at six in the morning. Fumbling for her phone on the nightstand, Jenny hit the talk button without looking, pulling the thing to her ear under the covers. "Hello?" she mumbled.<p>

"Jenny?"

Her heart stopped at the sound of the voice on the other end, and a sick feeling started in the pit of her stomach. It felt a lot like guilt, she thought, and regret.

"Jenny, I know you're there. I can hear you breathing," Nate said over the phone.

"Nate?" she asked disbelievingly just to be sure. Jenny'd had dreams that started like this before, and she really wasn't looking forward to rehashing it again.

"Duh," he shot back, "Look, this isn't a personal call."

Disappointment and relief mingled with each other in her chest, a chaotic swirl of contradicting emotion, and resulted in her breath deepening, evening out. "So what is it?" she wondered aloud.

"I'm at the hospital with your family," Nate began, and Jenny sat up abruptly, flinging the covers off. She blinked her eyes in the morning light, and felt something even worse than before filling her up.

"What?" she whispered in alarm, "What's happened?"

"Your dad had a heart attack."

She swore she felt something inside of her crack and crumble apart. "What?" Her voice came out small, and she felt an avalanche of dread come from her brain and spread all the way through her, all the way down to her toes. "Is he…" _Dead?_ "Okay? Why are you calling me? Where's Lily? Dan? Serena?"

"Lily's talking to the doctors right now. Serena is making sure that Dan is okay. When I figured out that Lily had been too distraught to call, I phoned."

"And?"

"And from what I can tell your dad's going to be okay. It's weird; I would have thought he'd be in great health. They said he just had a spontaneous arrhythmia." It was there that Nate's voice took on a hint of confusion.

Jenny weakly found herself replying, "The body's funny like that." Breathing deeply, she got out of bed with the phone still pressed to her ear. "Can you tell Lily that I'm going to catch the next flight out? I think this qualifies as an emergency, so I'm exempt from Blair's wrath." Her voice was drier than the cracked earth baking under the desert sun as she opened her bedroom door, stepping out into the quiet apartment.

"Yeah, no problem," Nate agreed, and then hesitated. "Jenny?" he began, but stopped short of saying more.

Impatient, worried, and wondering what the hell she was going to find when she knocked on Eric's door, the petite blonde shot back distractedly, "What?"

"…Nothing. Bye, Jenny."

"Bye," she told him, and hit the end call button, ignoring the little voice inside of her that was crying out to stay on the line with him. Instead Jenny tucked the phone into the front pocket of her athletic shorts, the ones she wore as pajamas that she'd stolen from Eric, and knocked loudly on her step-brother's door. "E?" she called loudly, "You here? Open up."

There was a shuffle on the other side of the door, then the jiggle of the lock turning. A moment later the door opened a crack, revealing a sliver of Eric's face and one bleary eye, reddened from excesses. "What? Good god, it's too early. I just went to bed."

"My dad had a heart attack," Jenny replied, her voice unsympathetic, "I think that trumps your beauty sleep. I'm going home. Are you coming?"

Looking more alert than he had before, Eric opened the door a little wider. "Yeah, absolutely. Are you booking a flight now?"

"Yep," Jenny turned away and headed for the laptop sequestered in her room.

Over her shoulder she heard Eric saying to someone, "Hey, wake up. You gotta go." Any other time, she'd have taken the opportunity to tease him for his man-whoring, but now was not the appropriate time. She had things to do, flights to schedule, bags to pack, a father whose immortality was suddenly being called into question. Jenny was scared; scared she'd be too late, that she would lose him without him ever really knowing her or forgiving her.

* * *

><p>She completed her tasks in a dream-like haze, shifting from one to the other mechanically. Eric beat her to the shower because she was busy packing, and she knew he'd use all the hot water. She didn't mind. The arctic blast would wake her up, shock her out of this waking sleep.<p>

Wordlessly, Jenny handed Eric the tickets she'd just printed out as he padded out in a ratty striped towel, and slid into the bathroom he'd just vacated. She was quick, and stepped out of the tub shivering, lips turning purplish blue. She almost forgot to blow dry her hair, would have entirely if Eric hadn't stopped her as she stepped out of her bedroom fully dressed and carrying her bags.

"Jenny, aren't you going to do your hair? I don't think you've even brushed it yet," he noted worriedly.

Setting her things down, she distractedly touched her hair. The strands felt stiff and tangled, and Jenny realized she'd also forgotten to use conditioner. "Damn," she husked, and stalked off to the bathroom. A little product, some severe brushing, and fifteen minutes with the dryer in hand resulted in something resembling a style. She looked at the limp, platinum mop and shrugged, reaching for a ponytail holder. Having her hair tied back left her face bare; she looked tired and scared, and she reached for her concealer, dabbing the thick make-up underneath her bruised-looking eyes. Of course, that made her face look weird, the two crescents of ivory underneath her eyes, so then she had to put on some powder to even out her skin tone. It was as she was rifling through her belongings for some lip color to take away the zombie-look of her lips that she realized she hadn't packed any make-up, or her hair things, or even her toothbrush, and there she'd been about to walk out the door without any of it.

Her brain was missing little connections, skipping around in its logic, misfiring. She found her toiletry bag, packing what she could, and crammed it into her carry-on. "I'm ready," she said almost to herself, but then she looked up at Eric, who was slinging a heavy duffle onto the couch, and repeated, "I'm ready. Are you ready?"

"Yeah," her step-brother agreed, turning off the heat while they were away, unplugging the electronics she'd forgotten about.

Eric called a cab to take them to Heathrow, another thing that had slipped Jenny's mind, and eyed her worriedly as they slid into the back seat. He thought part of him was always going to be taking care of Jenny, making sure she was okay, because he knew that in her own way, Jenny did the same for him. He wondered if there would ever be a time when they didn't need protecting.

It was a long flight, and Jenny alternated between dozing with her head on Eric's shoulder and staring listlessly out the window. He clicked away on his laptop, and did Sudoku puzzles, and a couple times he fell asleep snoring lightly in Jenny's ear. She needed the comfort of his presence, so she didn't move his head, just let the vibrations seep into her skull and roll around there, drowning out her other thoughts.

When they finally landed, Jenny woke Eric up with a little nudge, and stated unnecessarily, "We're here." The plane took awhile to disembark, and Jenny and Eric were seated near the back so they had to wait impatiently. "Call your mom," Jenny requested, and Eric turned his cell phone back on, waiting while the phone went through its little ba-bing intro. His mom was speed dial number three, and he pressed and held the number until the cell automatically dialed her.

"Mom?" he waited while the woman on the line spoke. "Yeah, we just landed. Where are you?" Another pause. "Okay, we're going to drop our stuff off at the apartment, then we'll be there. How is he?" Eric's lips quirked in a little half smile as he murmured, "Great, that's great. I'll tell Jenny. See you soon. Love you too." Eric looked over at his expectant sibling through married, and told her, "Your dad's alright. They've still got him at the hospital, but that's to be expected." Something in her relaxed at his news, but then Eric quietly told her, "You should probably call Blair so she doesn't see you on Gossip Girl and send her minions after you."

Jenny sighed and they slithered out of their seats, grabbing their carryon bags from the overhead bin, and shuffling down the congested aisle. She knew he was right, but it still irritated her. When was Blair going to grow up? She may have been hot shit on the UES, but she wasn't the queen of the world. Jenny suppressed a chuckle, remembering the headlines in the paper about Blair's Runaway Bride moment just before she was supposed to marry Prince Louis of That Tiny Spit of Land.

The siblings arrived curbside after making their way through the sea of people, and picked up their checked bags from the claim. The cab ride was expensive, but Eric handed over his credit card to the driver as they pulled up outside of the Van der Woodsens' long-time residence. Vanya was working the desk, and held the door open for them, exclaiming in his thick accent, "Miss Jenny, Mister Eric, so nice to see you! Your family is at hospital. Mister Rufus is not well."

"Hi, Vanya," Jenny greeted the doorman, "How's Dorota and the family?" Her smile was small, but genuine.

Vanya beamed with pride. "We have just had baby number two!"

"Congratulations," Eric grinned, and Jenny echoed the sentiment as they went to the elevator.

"You need help with bags?" Vanya offered.

With a shake of her head, white-blonde bangs sliding in front of her eyes, Jenny declined the offer. "No, that's okay, Vanya."

Quietly, she and Eric rode the lift to the penthouse apartment. When they got up there, Jenny was shocked to see that nothing had changed. After all, she had, so why wouldn't they? The art was the same, the decorations still tasteful and reeking of old money. Lily's desk was still in the living room despite the fact that she and Eric had been gone for over a year, leaving both of their bedrooms empty.

"Please," Eric pleaded one last time as he headed down the hallway to his old room, "Call Blair. I don't want any drama, and I don't think you do either."

Jenny sighed, but admittedly to herself that he was right. She wheeled her bags behind her to her old room. It was without her personal effects, but it was decorated the same, and the mattress had that familiar give to it as she sat down and took out her phone, calling up a blank text message.

_1:49 P.M. My dad's in the hospital. Amnesty? –J_

_2:02 P.M. Granted. –B_

"It's done!" she called to Eric, detangling her huge purse from the handle of her luggage, and heading for the door to his room. Leaning on the jamb, Jenny watched as Eric looked around wide-eyed. He turned to her, and there was something there that bordered on swift heartbreak. Despite his punk-esque makeover, and his new lifestyle of serial monogamy, Jenny was reminded of the fragile boy who'd been at the Ostroff Center. She wasn't the only one who was keeping things hidden—and she'd had a feeling that underneath his new behavior lay the old Eric crying for help.

"Jen?" he called her name, and his voice pulled her from her numbness momentarily, resurrected sweet Jenny Humphrey, the girl from Brooklyn, eager to please and with too much heart than was healthy.

She went to him, throwing her arms around him, and holding him tightly because that was what he needed in that moment. He needed her to be his sister and his friend, and the strong one because he needed to be weak right now, just for a moment.

His face buried against her cotton-clad shoulder, Eric mumbled, "I miss home."

"I know," she managed to choke out, "Me too."

* * *

><p><strong>SPOTTED:<strong> Little J and E heading to the hospital. You just got back, J; what damage could you have done _already_? Anybody know? XOXO, Gossip Girl.

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><p>The main entrance of the hospital had that alone-in-a-crowded-room, the same as most hospitals. And it was. Crowded, that is. There was always a congestion of people coming in and leaving right by the wide, rotating doors, and wheelchairs to dodge, and all sorts of craziness; people rushing to and fro with depressed, vacant looks on their faces. She and Eric bypassed them all, and the short line at the wide information counter staffed by tired senior citizens. They had their room number, and went to the elevator bank that would lead them up into the newer patient tower.<p>

Sixth floor, room 6112, Humphrey, R.

Her father's name was on the wall right underneath the maroon, plastic plaque that declared what number it was. There was only one clear slot, so it was safe to assume Lily had paid top dollar for a private room, and her father's name was printed in that slot, black font, all caps, and just his first initial.

It was right there in black and white that her father had almost died.

Jen stopped in her tracks, staring at the proof.

When she was little her father used to carry her around on his shoulders. Jenny had insisted. Every time her dad lifted her up she knew without doubt that he was the strongest man in the world, that he was invincible. He'd tell her to hold on, but she never listened, always dropping her hands and waving them in the air, flailing around excitedly. She wasn't afraid of falling. She wasn't afraid of anything, because her daddy was there, and he could do anything; he would keep her from falling.

She had fallen several times now, but this was the first that she had ever seen him falter, ever seen him as just a man, not a myth. It was the first time she realized that he would not live forever, and he didn't have the strength to pick her up and carry her any more.

"Jen?" Eric's voice cautiously intruded on her thoughts.

Her head snapped up, and looked at him with a brittle gaze, as though she was close to breaking, as though she was close to crying.

Eric hadn't seen Jenny cry in a long time, not since their freshman year and the time they don't talk about any more. She locked down tight after that, and at first he thought it was because she was getting better. Then he realized it was just because she couldn't deal with what she was feeling in England, she couldn't move on from it, and so she locked it away and just kept moving, kept breathing, kept eating because she couldn't die from a broken heart.

Then his sister's lips tilted up in a precarious smile, and in her light yet raspy voice she said, "Let's go in."

He knocked on the door, and when his mom's voice answered back, "Come in," he pushed on the vertical door handle, swinging the wide, wooden piece inward. The curtain wasn't pulled, so Eric walked right in, feeling Jenny trailing him like a specter. Once they cleared the open bathroom door, he could see them: Rufus, his stepdad, the closest thing he'd ever had to a real father, reclined on a hospital bed with the head tilted up a ways, and his mom seated in the recliner next to him, using his rolling table doo-dad as a laptop cart. She put down her elaborately framed eyeglasses, and stood up, pushing the tray aside. "Oh, Eric, Jenny, I'm so glad you could come," she sighed, opening her arms to embrace first her son, and then her step-daughter.

"Hey, guys," Rufus greeted them both. His eyes were open, but he looked tired, and his hair was a mess. Jen thought there was more gray in it than brown since the last time she'd seen him—Christmas—and maybe it was just her imagination, but he looked thinner. She disentangled herself from Lily's embrace, and throttled the sudden urge to fling herself onto his chest, sobbing hysterically like something she'd seen in about a dozen movies before. Instead she smiled, and tried to make it bright for his sake, and sat down in the uncomfortable looking chair placed on the other side of the bed.

"Hi, dad," Jenny began.

Her father reached out, and took his hand in hers. There was an IV in the top of his hand, taped neatly by some professional IV-putter-inner, somebody who no doubt did it every day, all day. A deep bruise had formed underneath the needle and tape, and she couldn't stop staring at it. If the IV-putter-inner was such a damn professional, why was he bruised? It seemed like a simple enough job. Her thoughts whirred. If even that menial task was too much for them, were these really the right people to take care of her father? Did they have a damn clue what they were doing? What if she was sitting there pouring her heart out to her father about how much she loved him, and how sorry she was for everything that had happened to come between them, to shatter his trust in her, and he started going into cardiac arrest? What if he began now; one minute he was holding her hand, and the next minute the monitors spiked out of control? What if, what if, what if…

She opened her mouth to blurt out the words 'these people are incompetent,' but Rufus beat her to speaking.

"I'm glad you came, sweetheart."

Jenny looked up at his face, his eyes, the deep crow's feet that were etched there permanently from years of smiles and worry. "You are?" she replied.

His smile was so familiar that she felt fissures forming in her mind, in her heart, in the box where she'd locked up her damaged, vulnerable parts. She was reminded of waffles in the morning (and sometimes at night), and absent-minded kisses on the top of her head, and family game nights, and sitting on her father's shoulders knowing that he would never let her fall.

The door quietly opened and closed, but the click of the knob was inconsequential to her.

"Of course I am," her dad answered.

Jenny gave him a wavery smile, and murmured, her voice thick with emotion, "I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too, baby. Me too." Rufus squeezed her hand in his, and her fingers felt tiny and fragile in his still. His grip was much stronger than hers.

* * *

><p>"We'll go down to the cafeteria," his mom told him after she'd discreetly led him from the room, and closed the door after them. "I think Rufus and Jenny could use some father-daughter time."<p>

"I think you're right," Eric agreed, and they took the elevator to the basement where the cafeteria was. As soon as they stepped off the lift, they could smell the food. After twelve hours with nothing to eat, Eric was starving, and his stomach growled in approval of even mediocre cafeteria food.

"You look a little different," Lily observed as they headed down the hallway, "I think you've grown an inch or two since I saw you last." She smiled. "And I can see that living with Jenny has started affecting your taste in clothing as well." Her eyes dragged up from his combat boots, which were his new favorite thing, to his jeans, lingering a little on the Sharpie pictures on his left thigh, and the t-shirt he was wearing that advertised some random punk band he and Jenny had gone to see one night with a group of their mutual friends. Over that he had on an unbuttoned pink Calvin Klein dress shirt that was more than a little wrinkled. He and Jenny did not believe in ironing, and if things didn't get hung up right away when they came out of the dryer, they inevitably got wrinkled. The iron they owned was only plugged in if Jenny was sewing, and Eric was expressly not allowed to touch it.

Eric shrugged, a little embarrassed by his mother's scrutiny. Next to the blonde haired, blue eyed beauty of his mother and sister, he'd always felt a little like the odd man out. His hair and eyes were both brown, and he was shorter than either of them. According to his grandmother, he looked a lot like his great-uncle Russell Rhodes, with the exception of having his father's coloring. Feeling like an outsider had been one of his triggers for his depression, but after a few years of having Jenny as a friend and roommate, he was past the idea of constantly trying to fit in. In London, they didn't live in the hippest part of town, and they didn't have a whole ton of extra money (though Eric still had his trust, but he only wanted to use that for real emergencies), and their friends didn't care about any of the stuff that people on the UES did; nobody cared if he wore Ralph Lauren or Ralfie Tees (which was a label that one of Jenny's friends produced), or two hundred dollar designer jeans versus Levi's. Blending in just didn't matter that much anymore. Everybody at Saint Martins had their own style or lack thereof; there was no image to live up to.

Instead of letting the defensive reply slip that he really wanted to, Eric replied with what he hoped was an adequate answer: "It's not Jenny. It's just…a different world there."

He smiled at his mom, and she shot back one of her own as she said, "It's not an accusation, darling. As long as you're happy, I don't care what you wear. If you decided that you were only going to wear clothes that could be recycled, I would say it's great that you care about the environment so much." She laughed and ruffled his hair affectionately as they entered the dining hall.

Eric laughed along with her, imaging himself in a shirt made out of paper bags and grass pants, and slung his arm around her waist, hugging her briefly. "I love you, mom. You're such a closet weirdo."

Lily shushed him dramatically, and glanced around with exaggerated head motions. "We mustn't let anyone know," she whispered conspiratorially. They shared a look that made them laugh even harder, and stepped into line behind a stout middle aged woman, and a man in hospital scrubs, grabbing a gray carrying tray for each of them.

As they went around the line, his mom grabbed a salad from the cold case, and a large cup of coffee. Eric went bigger and ordered a cheeseburger and a double order of fries, knowing that his mom was more than likely to pinch a few. He also got a salad for Jenny, and a slice of Boston cream pie, knowing that she hadn't eaten either. The bag of Cheetos was for the both of them.

His mother raised an eyebrow when she saw how much he'd piled on his tray, but he just shrugged. "Some of it's for Jen too," he explained.

"Oh," Lily almost smacked herself, "I should have asked her if she wanted anything. I'm sorry, my head is just all over the place lately."

He eyed his mom sympathetically, but couldn't tell if she was tired, not underneath her ever-so-artful make-up. However, he was betting on the odds of her sleeping well last night had been slim to none. "You're tired," Eric replied, as they got up to the register and paid.

"It's true. I'll sleep well tonight, that's for sure," Lily chuckled, and then started eyeing the tables around the room. "Now, Dan and Serena stepped out a little before you and Jenny arrived. Ah, there they are!" Making her way through the clogged set-up of gray tables and uncomfortable chairs, she led Eric to his sister and stepbrother.

"Hey!" Serena cried when she spotted them, jumping out of her seat, and hurrying to meet them with a huge smile on her perpetually tanned face. Her golden mane was still long and glamorous, and her high heels still made her taller than most guys, which meant she dwarfed Eric when they stood next to each other. His sister plucked his tray out of her hands, and plopped it down, engulfing him in a hug. "It's so good to see you!"

"You too," Eric chirped, hugging his Glamazon sibling back. Over her shoulder, he saw Dan get up and pull out a chair for his mom, tucking her into the table neatly. Marrying into their family had definitely improved Dan's manners a bit over the years, and Eric smiled at the thought of the Dan Humphrey he'd first met in his freshman year; 'awkward' didn't quite cover it.

Serena stepped away from him, and let him sit down, though she patted his hand as though she couldn't believe he was actually there. "God, I'm so happy to see you, E, you've got no idea. I have missed my baby brother. We've got so much to catch up on."

Eric grinned at her and rolled his eyes. "We'll girl-talk later, okay? Right now, I've got a black hole in my stomach and it's threatening to suck in my lungs."

His sister laughed, and returned to picking at her food—a salad; what was it with women and salad?—as she replied, "Okay, okay. Feed the void. Got it."

"Hey, Dan," Eric greeted his step-brother, Jenny's older, biological sibling, as he tore the paper wrapping off of his cheeseburger, prepared to annihilate the delicious slab of cow in as few bites as possible.

"Hey," Dan nodded, and smiled.

Dan and Jenny looked nothing alike, except maybe in their jaws—both were a little narrow and delicate; elfin might have been a good word for it—and the fact that they were both long and a little on the lean side. Jenny took after their mom, Allison, in that she was blonde haired and blue eyed, while Dan had gotten his father's dark hair and eyes. It was funny, actually, because when people saw them all together, they assumed Jenny and Serena and Lily were all related, and that himself, Dan, and Rufus were biologically related, like they were the Upper East Side version of the Brady Bunch or something.

"How's London?" Dan asked.

Swallowing his overflowing mouthful of beefy deliciousness (insert gay joke here), Eric quipped with a wry smile, "It'd be better if you guys would come visit us every once in awhile instead of making me and Jenny come to you all the time."

Dan laughed, and Eric ignored the way Dan and Serena tensed minutely at the mention of Jenny's name. It had been two years; these people needed to learn to let things go, for god's sake.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

Hollowed

Chapter Four

Fandom: Gossip Girl

Pairing: Nate/Jenny

Rating: M

Warnings: angst

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

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><p>Notes: This chapter is pretty heavy on the angst, and Nate being an indecisive and self-avoidant little shit. There are references to the ChuckJenny disaster, and some stuff dealing with that, and some foreshadowing for the next chapter, and Chuck being cagey. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

><p>"So…Jenny's back then?" Nate asked, his voice deliberately casual. "And Eric?" he added after a moment's thought just so that he didn't sound quite so suspicious. After all, it wasn't like he was trying to be stalkerish or anything. He and Jenny weren't even friends anymore, not after what she'd done at the Saints and Sinners bash. But still, he couldn't help but be a little curious. Maybe it was an occupational hazard. He was turning into a gossip because of his work.<p>

That sounded plausible.

"Yeah," Serena replied, flopping down on the sofa in his office, and kicking her feet up. She lifted her hair up off of her neck so that it spilled over the arm, dangling in the air. "For now. I mean, it's not a permanent thing, but she seems kind of reluctant to leave until she knows for sure that Rufus is out of the woods. You should have seen them. We walked into the room, and Jenny was holding her dad's hand. They were talking and laughing like nothing ever happened, like Jenny never tried to ruin everybody's lives. It makes me sick."

Ignoring the fact that he had his own issues with Jenny, Nate winced, and tried to offer up some kind of defense for his former friend (maybe his former flame?). "Don't you think that's a little harsh? I mean, he is her dad; that's his child. No matter how much she fucks up, she's always going to be his kid. She has a right to want to come and see him after such a close call."

Scoffing, Serena replied, "Jeez, Nate, whose side are you on? You know all about what Jenny's like. She may have decided to pin her halo back up, but we both know it's just a matter of time before she shows her true colors again."

"I'm not on anybody's side," Nate stated, narrowing his eyes at the top of Serena's head. "I wasn't aware there _were_ sides."

"Of course there are sides," Serena immediately shot back, "There are always sides where Jenny is concerned. And why are you defending her anyway? She's done as much to you as she has to me."

Nate's lips thinned as he pressed them together tightly, holding back his words. Sometimes, though he loved Serena, he wished she wasn't so…_Serena_. In some ways it seemed like no matter how old she got there was still that immature fifteen year old hovering on the edges of her subconscious. Serena may not be as big of a wild child as she was back then, but those things—the drinking, the drugs, the sex, the parties—were the symptoms, not the disease. Despite her best efforts, Serena was always going to be more self-centered than selfless, and even as an adult the trend persisted.

The fact was that Serena was threatened by Jenny, envious of her. Everything had been fine up until Rufus and Lily married, but once they merged families it was harder for Serena to like Jenny. She wasn't used to sharing the spotlight, and neither was Jenny, and with two prima donnas in close quarters it was almost inevitable that blood would be drawn.

Nate also secretly thought that Serena hated the close relationship that Lily and Jenny had formed. Lily and Serena hadn't been close when Serena was a kid. It was only after she stopped partying, and started turning her life around that she and her mother began to bond. Like a little kid who doesn't want to share her toys, Serena guarded her relationship with her mother from Jenny, the interloper. Lily and Serena's relationship may have been up and down, but that was still _her_ mother. He figured Serena probably didn't even realize she'd been doing it.

And he wasn't about to tell her.

There were just certain things one did not talk to Serena van der Woodsen about, and at the top of the list was anything requiring her to do self-analysis.

"Nate?" Serena's voice intruded on his thoughts.

"Hm?" he hummed as he clicked through prospective articles for tomorrow's page.

"Jenny?" she prompted.

Attempting to avoid getting roped into the conversation again, Nate replied slowly, "What about her?" He made sure to add the appropriate amount of bemusement into his voice.

"Your stalwart knight in shining armor routine whenever she's concerned?" There was a hint of annoyance in his friend's tone, but Nate didn't mind. He'd learned his avoidance tactics at the hands of experts—his parents—and perfected them when he was going out with Blair as a teenager. The dumber people thought he was, the less they expected of him. If Serena thought he was just having an Archibald Moment (it still made him laugh that his friends had coined such a term; he laughed even harder when he realized they thought he didn't know about it), then she would give up on the topic, and Nate could go back to being Switzerland in whatever social war his friends were cooking up now.

Except for some reason the comment about always going to Jenny's rescue pushed a button.

"I don't always rush to defend Jenny," Nate grumped as he replied to an e-mail.

"Yes, you do," Serena volleyed back.

"No, I don't. Go ahead, say something disparaging. Door's wide open, Serena. Say anything. I won't respond," he found himself daring her, and if he'd stopped to think about what he was saying, Nate would have laughed at how childish he sounded.

"Okay," Serena chuckled with an edge of meanness, "Jenny has more issues than _Vogue_. Her over-processed bleach blonde hair looks like a mop head. I'm pretty sure her mom is actually part demon; she'd have to be to birth such an unnaturally skinny girl. It also makes sense since Jenny is the Antichrist."

Nate let out a burst of surprised laughter. "That's ridiculous," he chuckled, shaking his head.

"See?" Serena crowed triumphantly, hands flying up in exasperation. "You did it again!"

He wanted to pout and argue back, but after reminding himself that he was an adult, he managed to refrain. However, that didn't stop him from making a face at the top of Serena's head that was peeking over the arm of the sofa.

She was right, he did have a tendency to rise to Jenny's defense, but…he couldn't help but remember a girl just starting to find her way in the world, fresh-faced and bright, and trying to be tougher than she really was; a kiss on a sidewalk that seemed to last forever; the jubilant look on her face as she kicked his ass at _Wii Sports_. It was hard for him to reconcile that girl with the girl that set Vanessa up at the Snowflake Ball, the girl that tried to sabotage his relationship with Serena, the girl who got involved in a scheme to destroy both his and Dan's chances with winning Serena back. He knew she did all of those things, but Nate just didn't think that's all there was to Jenny, not like Serena obviously did.

"Look," Nate began, "I just don't think it's entirely fair for you to judge her on all her past mistakes. You don't like it when people do that to you."

"It's different," Serena interrupted him, but he cut her off quickly.

"No, it's not, Serena," he said quickly, "Your actions resulted in a man's death, and another man serving time in jail for a crime he didn't commit. You've done things that have almost destroyed your friendships too, and yet everyone finds it in their hearts to forgive you. Why is it so impossible to believe that Jenny may have changed too?"

"Nate," Serena whimpered, her voice coming out weak, "That's not fair. You know I didn't kill Pete. Pete was a drug addict who OD'd. He just…happened to do it while I was with him. And I didn't know anything about what my mom did to Ben. Once I found out, I tried to get him exonerated."

"Doesn't change the fact that you tried to tempt a teacher at your school into having an affair with you," Nate commented coolly, "And you _did_ have an affair with my cousin, a married Congressman."

Flinging herself off the couch, Serena turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly.

Nate patted himself on the back when he kept eye contact, and pointedly did not look at her framed décolletage.

Glaring at him, Serena stated, "You know, Nate, you're no angel either." Then she turned on her heel and stalked out of his office.

To the empty room, Nate smirked self-deprecatingly and stated, "Yeah, I know." He sighed and returned to his work.

* * *

><p>He hated that he'd taken Serena's bait, that he let her get a rise out of him. Then again, Serena was good at pushing buttons. It was a UES tradition, practically a pre-requisite for living there. 'Must be able to manipulate others.' Nate could play that game if he had to, but truthfully preferred not to. It was exhausting playing those kinds of games, and he'd rather spend his energy doing something worthwhile. (Not that he knew what that worthwhile thing was.)<p>

Locking up the office, Nate headed home for the night, hailing a cab outside of the building. He spent the ride staring out of the window wondering, as he often did, about what the hell is was going to do about the permanent state of discontent he seemed to be in.

His apartment on Park was fairly modest, but nice. He'd moved out of the penthouse he shared with Chuck earlier that year. After Blair and his friend stopped fighting the inevitable—seriously, he'd never seen a more dramatic couple, and that was saying something—and got back together, Blair practically moved in to the penthouse. Serena started paying rent at the Waldorf's penthouse instead of acting like a permanent houseguest, because Blair was never there; Eleanor had discreetly told Serena she either needed to begin chipping in financially or she was going to have to move out. There had been another big, dramatic blow-out between Blair and her mother when Blair found out about the whole thing, but eventually her logical mind had won out and Blair had withdrawn her complaint. Anyway, since Blair spent the night with Chuck pretty much six days a week, Nate started feeling like the penthouse was a little crowded. The happy couple should have their happy space, and Nate was tired of wearing earplugs at night, thus the new apartment. It was his first place that he lived by himself. Sometimes the solitude was overwhelming; sometimes it was a relief.

He stepped out of the cab after paying the fare, clutching his briefcase, and headed for the door.

The doorman, Randall, was just opening the artfully frosted glass door when Nate saw something out of the corner of his eye, something bright and near-white, like a sunspot dancing away. Caught, his head turned automatically, and he found himself watching a head of white-blonde hair as it walked down the sidewalk towards the park.

The girl stopped at the crosswalk; he knew it was a girl because of the height and slenderness of her, easily discerned even from the backside. Her shoulders hunched as she stuffed her hands into her coat pockets, the studded leather jacket rising up a little as her shoulders rounded.

"Jenny?" Nate called.

She turned, her eyes flashing over her shoulder.

The light changed, and she turned, walking on, her long legs eating up the pavement, carrying her across the intersection before Nate could do or say anything more.

But he knew; her hair, the spritely features, the distinctive taste in clothes; he knew it was Jenny. Her eyes, those pale blue eyes like a Siberian Husky, sent a shock of recognition through him even from so far away.

Nate hesitated. Should he go after her? See what she was doing? How she was?

His conversation with Serena echoed in his mind, how he was always trying to be Jenny's knight in shining armor.

"Mr. Archibald?" Randall asked, still holding open the door.

Shaking his head, Nate stepped over the threshold. "Thanks, Randall," he told the doorman, smiling distractedly as he went to the nickel elevator doors, and hit the button. Resolutely, he ordered himself to stop thinking about Jenny Humphrey and the multitude of reasons she'd be going to Central Park after the sun went down.

* * *

><p>"Nathaniel," Chuck's voice drawled in his ear.<p>

Nate angrily pulled the blanket up over his head. "Go away," he ordered sleepily, "This isn't happening. I don't live with you anymore."

A dark chuckle, and then his friend growled at him, "You weren't answering your phone. I thought we were going to play squash today."

"Fuck your squash," Nate snapped back, and pushed the pillow over his head.

A lengthy sigh followed his surly statement, and Chuck told him, "Fine. I'll be in the living room doing god knows what. I'm sure you can imagine far worse things than I can say. Join me when you're ready." There was the sound of footsteps retreating, the plod muffled by plush carpeting. From a distance, Chuck called back, "I don't know why you didn't get the penthouse. The view would have been much better."

Nate stifled the urge to roll his eyes and shout more obscenities. Growing resigned to the fact that Chuck wasn't going to give up and go away, he rolled out of bed, pulling on a t-shirt over his bare torso and sweatpants. Raising his voice to be heard, he replied, "I like my balcony, okay? The penthouse doesn't have one."

"It also has a couple hundred more square feet," Chuck shot back.

"Exactly," Nate grumbled under his breath as he walked out of his bedroom and into the spacious hall. The front closet and bathroom were directly across from his room. Both of the doors were a rich, walnut color, with a frosted glass panel on the top and bottom, bisected by another piece of wood. It reminded Nate of one of those ultra-modern hotels. The whole building did, which was part of the reason why he'd chosen it. Everything was minimalist and modern. There were no ostentatious golden doors or filigreed crown molding. It was simple. The carpet was that generic color somewhere between gray and brown with a plush, soft feel to it that indicated it was expensive.

Walking into the living room, he skirted past his friend, leisurely browsing the offerings in his DVR list, and headed for the kitchen, specifically the coffee pot.

What Chuck and a lot of his other friends would never understand was that Nate hadn't wanted the penthouse. He'd spent his whole life in the penthouse it seemed, and he didn't want to always be the asshole in the penthouse suite. Now that he was working, making money, Nate was trying to rely less on his family's money and more on his earnings. Just because he was a trust fund baby didn't mean he needed to blow it all. So a nice, modest one bedroom—still in a ridiculously expensive neighborhood, but that was beside the point—was more than enough for him.

Once the coffee was percolating Nate joined Chuck on the couch. "Sorry I forgot about squash," he mumbled as Chuck turned on the news.

"It's alright," he said, "I'm not all that concerned about playing squash." Chuck slanted a look at him. "Are you alright, Nathaniel?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine." Then he sighed. "I think I'm fine, at least. I don't know. I've had a lot on my mind, and I'm tired, and I think I might be starting to hate my job."

"Oh, jeez," Chuck dragged the phrase out. "Well, let's pause this conversation until the coffee's ready. I need some kind of fortification if we're going to talk about how you're feeling today."

Nate glanced over at his friend's sly, amused expression. He started laughing. "You're a dick," he wheezed, clapping Chuck's shoulder fondly.

Chuck just smirked at him. "So when will the coffee be done?"

* * *

><p>They were eating bagels and drinking coffee, and Nate was debating putting the breakfast sausages sitting in the freezer into the microwave. That was a lot like cooking though, and he wasn't in the mood to cook. He wasn't really in the mood to do anything. It was his day off and he wanted to spend it doing nothing.<p>

"So," Nate started absently, "I say Jenny last night."

Chuck glanced up from his plate and calmly folded the newspaper in his hands into a neat quarter. "Did you?" he replied, his voice a little odd, eyes cautious and reading him.

After years of being friends with the guy, Nate could recognize his 'I'm analyzing you' expression.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "It's not like it was a big deal. She didn't even say anything to me, just kept walking down the street."

"So?" Chuck asked.

"So…what the hell was she doing walking toward Central Park at seven o' clock last night? It's bugging me, man. And you know, I called her name, and she turned around and looked right at me. I _know_ she saw me. Then she just walked away like she didn't even know me. What the hell? Who does that?" Nate harrumphed.

"Nathaniel," Chuck hesitated, and took a sip of his coffee. When he set the mug down he carefully arranged the handle so it was parallel with the edge of the newspaper. "There are a number of things wrong with the conversation. Number one, we're talking about _Jenny Humphrey_, a girl you have not seen or spoken to in nearly two years. The second thing is that you're upset because she wouldn't speak to you, which is incredibly ironic since you're the one who called off your friendship in the first place; she's just following your wishes. The third and final thing is that you've been obsessing over this since last night. Nathaniel, you don't even know if she was going to the park. You don't know anything. Maybe she turned and walked down another street. I think she has a right to her privacy, to walk around the neighborhood without being questioned about where she's going. The poor girl's been through enough, don't you think?"

It was the last part of Chuck's spiel that seemed so out of place, and caught Nate's interest. He looked down at his bagel, the toasted surface covered with cream cheese and jam, as his eyes narrowed a little. Chuck was certainly singing a different tune than the one that Nate was used to hearing from his friends. Wiping his expression clear, slipping on the slightly befuddled mask that he usually wore, he looked up and locked eyes with his best friend. Chuck's were dark and wary underneath his cool composure.

"She has been through a lot," Nate agreed slowly, "But you are the last person I'd ever expect to come to her defense."

His lips thinning as he pressed them together in exasperation, Chuck replied, "I'm not defending her. I'm telling you to leave it alone. Leave _her_ alone. Jennifer has more than learned her lesson about meddling in the affairs of others. She just wants to fade away into obscurity. I respect that; _Blair_ respects that. So should you."

"How do you know?" Nate wondered, "How do you know she's learned her lesson? You haven't spoken to Jenny since you…" It was there that Nate's voice trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to say it, a sick feeling burning in the pit of his stomach.

"Since I slept with her?" Chuck filled in the blank. His face was a perfectly bland mask, nothing but the slightly amused and mocking twist of his lips that was his usual poker face firmly in place.

Nate sighed internally. Chuck was always going to be a better poker player than he was. He outmaneuvered Nate with a quick, succinct move. The house always won.

"Nathaniel?" Chuck prompted, "Is that what you were going to say?"

_Asshole_, Nate thought disparagingly. He loved his friend, but the guy had a way of pushing his buttons like no one else on earth could. "Yes," Nate snapped, "That's what I was trying to say, though I don't know if I'd have used that exact phrase."

"What would you have said?" Chuck drawled, his voice deep and clearly entertained. "That I took her? Had sex with her? Fucked her? That I pounded that tight, little virgin pussy until she screamed?"

With each phrase that Chuck uttered, Nate found himself becoming more and more tense so that he was holding his coffee cup in a white-knuckled grip, his hands cranked into claws. At the last though he snapped, slamming his drink onto the table and splashing rapidly cooling brew onto the clean, wooden surface. "That's enough!" Nate barked. He felt his blood boiling, his face heating with ire. "Don't talk about her like she's some slut you paid for. That's disgusting. That's your _step-sister_."

Chuck drew back a little at his tone and looked at him curiously, but Nate couldn't tell what he was truly thinking. When he spoke, it was quiet, and filled with self-mockery. "Only through a little twist of fate," Chuck sighed, "But you are correct, she is technically my step-sister, which is why even if I _hadn't_ known that she was a virgin, I would only have treated her well."

It was the most that Chuck had ever told him about that night, the most that Nate had ever asked to know. The knowledge had lingered between them, a dark secret that neither one of them wanted to acknowledge. Jenny had wanted Nate, that much he was sure of. Instead she'd let herself be taken by Chuck in a moment of despair. It wasn't that he was jealous of Chuck, he didn't think so at least, but rather that somewhere deep inside of him, he was angry. Jenny had deserved more than to be somebody's mistake. She'd deserved a boy who loved her.

Nate blinked and stared at the spilled coffee. He wasn't sure what to say.

His friend cleared his throat. It was such an uncharacteristic sign of nervousness, of discomfort, that Nate looked up, surprised. Catching his gaze, Chuck told him seriously, "Nate, I didn't hurt her. At least I tried not to. You know how it is for a woman the first time. But I was gentle, and I made it good for her, I swear." Then Chuck's eyes fell away from his, sliding off to the side and looking out the huge picture window.

"Thanks," Nate heard himself say, and he wasn't quite sure why he said, why it was so important to him.

Chuck glanced back at him with a weary smile on his face, the relief clear in his eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

Hollowed

Chapter Five

Fandom: Gossip Girl

Pairing: Nate/Jenny

Rating: M

Warnings: angst

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

* * *

><p>Notes: So what's going on with Jenny? We find out why Chuck was acting cagey with Nate, and some other stuff happens. There's also a brief ChuckJenny flashback.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

><p>Jenny was relieved when Serena left the hospital, and when Dan shortly followed her after. She thought it was a little sad that being around her own brother made her so tense and uncomfortable, but it was there in Dan's eyes, the wariness, the accusation, the <em>question<em>—'What is she going to do _this time_?' All she wanted was for him to go away and take his judgmental gaze somewhere else, and that was incredibly saddening for her to admit because Dan was her brother, and she loved him, and all she wanted was for him to forgive her.

She didn't think she'd ever get that from him though. Dan and her father both had a penchant for holding grudges. She'd spend the rest of her life making it up to them, and they probably still wouldn't utter the words she so desperately wanted to hear.

Serena was different. Jenny understood her hatred, and didn't begrudge her for it. She'd done some awful things to Serena, and because of her Machiavellian schemes Serena could have really been hurt. Her anger was righteous. If it would make Serena feel better to make Jenny suffer in her presence, then she'd bear the penance in silence. She guessed it was better than nothing. At least Serena still felt something toward her, felt she was worthy enough to continue torturing, and maybe someday the dregs of her rage would run dry, and Jenny would know that she'd have done everything she could, that she'd done enough to make up for the hurt she'd inflicted on Serena.

She'd never ask for Serena's forgiveness. That would be an insult to her. Instead Jenny would just take the punishment and hope that someday it would be enough, that the two hurts would balance each other out.

It was karmic justice.

But still, she couldn't help but be thankful when the leaders of the We Hate Jenny club left, and when she hugged her dad and Lily took them home for the night.

She'd never been happier to eat Chinese take-out at home with her step-mom and her step-brother, and watch crappy reruns of sitcoms on TV.

It was six-thirty when Lily started yawning and declared that she was heading to bed. "I'll admit, I haven't slept much since your father was admitted. I think it's catching up with me," she laughed delicately. "Goodnight, Jenny," she said, and gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, then she moved on to Eric, who stood up and hugged his mother tightly. "Goodnight, sweetheart," Lily stated as she dropped a kiss on Eric's head.

"Night, mom," he replied as they parted, and watched his mother go up the staircase. Once she disappeared from view, he sighed and flopped onto a cream armchair, reaching for his lap top.

Jenny turned off the television and was about to go to her room when she caught her brother's quiet sigh, and the wistfulness buried within it. Her heart clenched. She knew what she had to do, she just didn't know how to do it. With one last glance over her shoulder, Jenny went to her room and picked up her cell phone.

_6:33 P.M. Need 2 talk 2 u. R u w/ B? –J_

Eric was quietly miserable in London, and Jenny knew why. He missed his friends, he missed his family; some part of him may have even missed New York and the UES and all the craziness that came with it. However, she knew that he would never leave her in London alone. The remembered feel of cold bathroom tile on her skin made her shiver involuntarily, and how she just couldn't move no matter that her mind was shouting at her to do so.

There was only one thing to do. Somehow she had to get Blair to revoke her banishment. That way she could move in and out of the city freely, and Eric would feel safe to return home.

She knew of only one other person who would fight for Eric's happiness aside from herself.

The bracelets on her wrist shifted and jingled as she raised her cell phone up so she could read the screen again.

_6:35 P.M. Not yet. Meet at the Park outside the Zoo. –C_

"Fuck," Jenny hissed, knowing that he meant _now_, and not twenty minutes or an hour from now. She hurried to get her things together, pulling on a hoodie and her leather jacket, and heading for the door. She hated lying to Eric, but frankly thought this was for his own good. If he knew what she was doing, he'd oppose her and try to keep her home.

"Hey," she told her friend as she stepped out of her room, "I'm going to go for a walk. I'm in the mood for a corndog from a street vendor. You wanna come?" Jen already knew he'd say no. He wasn't as snooty as some of his family members, but he still avoided street food as a general rule after the one time they'd hit up a truck for fish tacos and he'd gotten food poisoning.

Eric looked up from his computer and curled his lip. "No thanks," he stated.

"Suit yourself," Jenny sing-songed as she zipped up her riding boots and headed for the elevator. The door opened and slid closed again without Eric changing his mind or questioning the truth of her statement, and she breathed a small sigh of relief in the elevator.

When she hit the street, she walked fast and with a purpose behind her steps. _Miles to go before I sleep_, she laughed to herself. The ground passed beneath her feet as she moved with single-minded intention, pausing only for walk signals and to ascertain if the street was too busy for her to cross without it. She was walking down Park, heading for the zoo when she heard a too-familiar voice calling her name.

"Jenny?"

_No_. She even whispered it furtively under her breath before she turned, "No." As though saying it would make it untrue.

Then she turned, and there was Nate. He was still lovely, though that was to be expected. Tall, with that gorgeous somewhere-between-blond-and-brown hair, and those blue eyes, and that mouth—good god, that mouth; there was a time she'd have done anything for that mouth, those hands, the sweep of his eyelashes. He was wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, and Jenny spared a moment to be a little sad for him, a little disappointed that he'd ended up surrendering to the shallow corporate world that he'd so wanted to avoid as a teenager.

She made herself turn and walk away.

Nate wasn't her friend anymore. She didn't have the right to ask after him, to wonder about him, and truthfully they had nothing to talk about. She'd done what she did, he'd said what he'd said, and now it was over. A courtesy phone call to let her know that her father was in the hospital wasn't the same thing as forgiveness, wasn't even close to it. It was just a kindness. He'd been there, he'd had her number, he knew she hadn't been called yet. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

She ignored the painful lump in her throat when he didn't come after her, and kept going, slumping a little, looking down at the ground as the cracks in the sidewalk vanished under the tread of her boots. The spot between her shoulder blades was tense, knotted. Jenny couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on her back, and she reached back, tugging her maroon hood up over her telltale shock of hair. With a glance over her shoulder, she checked to make sure nobody was following her, nobody was paying attention, and ducked across the street to the brick entrance and the closed gates, eyes on the clock looming above it all.

Her wrist itched underneath her bracelets, and she rubbed it absently against her denim-clad hip.

A limousine pulled up next to her on the street. The window slid down, and there she was locking eyes with Chuck fucking Bass. "Jennifer," the deep, raspy voice said her name, and suddenly she was transported back in time, shaky and heartbroken, and begging for somebody, anybody to love her, even if it was Chuck Bass.

* * *

><p><em>His lips were soft and undemanding, and when he pulled away he seemed just as startled as Jenny was. Neither of them spoke. <em>

_Somewhere underneath the jagged edges of her fractured world, Jenny thought this was strangely fitting. In a way, it had all started with kissing Chuck Bass. The beautiful, diabolical symmetry of ending it with him was only too perfect, exactly right for that moment. _

_She leaned closer and kissed him again, a gossamer caress of her lips on his. It was an offer, an invitation. He could choose whether or not to accept it, and she wouldn't push, wouldn't ask for more than he was willing to give. All she wanted were a few moments where she didn't feel like the last person on a barren planet. _

_Chuck must have felt the same way, because he kissed her back. There was scotch on his lips tempered by the taste of sadness, and she wondered if she tasted the same or if he could taste the poison inside of her that was nothing like the bitterness of scotch. _

_They didn't discuss it. He simply stood up, and offered her his hand. _

_She let him help her off the couch, and into his bedroom. It was dark like a tomb, and that was ironic because they were both dying. When he dropped her hand she felt cut adrift, and she looked at his retreating back as he walked into his closet and closed the door. The light clicked on; she could see the little strip of yellow underneath the door. _

_Jenny shivered, the fanciful part of her mind finding the silence in the apartment oppressive. The dark and the quiet reminded her too much of her thoughts about death and tombs and other macabre ideas. There was a candle next to the bed, and a box of matches from a high-class bar. She slid the box out of the sleeve with a scritch that sounded abnormally loud to her, and pulled out one tiny stick, striking the fatter head on the side. It hissed and flared, exploding into being, shedding light on the dark walls. With a trembling hand, she touched the flame to the tip of the wick, holding it until the end caught ablaze. Automatically, she shook the match out, and the sulfur smell of it was a comfort reminding her that she was still here, she was still alive. The flame on the candle grew._

_She turned away, and walked to the vacant bathroom, hauling her oversized bag in there with her. _

_Her fingers felt cold, alien, as she slid off her jacket and pulled her dress over her head. Suddenly realizing that it was still dark, she put on the light. It was too bright, and her eyes squinted. Hitting the switches, she dimmed the room once more and kept playing around until she found the soft lights in the huge glass shower stall. There was just enough illumination for her to put her things inside her bag, to slip off her shoes. She wasn't wearing a bra, just a small black slip. _

_Glancing in the mirror, she wondered if she ought to do something special for him. Should she take off her make-up? (She couldn't stand the thought of being without her armor.) Should she rinse her mouth with the blue liquid on the counter? (She wanted to keep the taste of scotch on her tongue, to keep the memory of it burning in her gut.) Should she roll on more deodorant, spray herself with just a hint of perfume? _

_In the end, she didn't do anything. She stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and padded across the carpeting. _

_Chuck was reclined on what Jenny assumed was his side of the bed wearing dark, silk pajamas. He watched her, watched the subconscious roll of her hips as she moved. She wasn't trying to be sexy. She wasn't trying to be anything. Chuck was Novocain. _

"_You don't have to do this," he said, and she could hear underneath his strategically bland tone that he was uncertain, hurting, needing. _

_She felt the same, and she thought that maybe if they were together some of that pain would go away. So she looked at him as she sat on the opposite side of the bed, and told him, "I don't want to be alone." The candle was flickering away merrily on the table on what she assumed was Blair's side of the bed. It looked happy and warm, and Jenny thought 'there's no place for you here.'_

_He blinked, and it seemed to her that his eyes were closed for an abnormal length of time. Then he opened his eyes again and replied, "Neither do I." _

_She reached over and extinguished the flame. This wasn't about warmth or romance. This was about fucking away the sorrow that plagued them both; it was about numbness._

* * *

><p>Chuck watched as Jenny Humphrey watched him, and felt a sliver of déjà vu slide down his spine. He stepped out of the limo and told his driver, "Go around the block."<p>

"Yes, Mr. Bass," the man replied, and pulled away from the curb smoothly.

Jenny was still quiet, still observing him.

Chuck fought the urge to squirm under her gaze. The last time they'd been alone he had taken the girl's virginity. It wasn't something he liked to think about. That one action had almost destroyed his relationship with Blair. Not that he completely regretted the action. Better him than say, that asshole drug-dealer Damien that Jenny used to date. In a strange way, he cherished the memory. Yes, it was a mistake; yes, it was probably wrong-Jenny was Lily's step-daughter, and he was Lily's son due to a late-in-life adoption—but the memory of that night was still one he held with bittersweet intensity. Despite the booze, he recalled every moment of it, every detail. There was trust in her eyes—regardless of their spotty history, she trusted him.

He was at his lowest, and so was she, and together they weathered the storm.

"You look good, Jenny," he complimented her, "London seems to have been good for you."

She shrugged her shoulders inside of her leather jacket. The studs caught the weak lamppost light, reflecting it off into the distance. "It's whatever," she replied, her voice emerging from the back of her hood.

"So, you wanted to see me?" Chuck prompted when the silence between them carried a little too long.

Jenny nodded and started walking.

Chuck fell into pace beside her without having been asked, his walk every inch its smooth, distinctive swagger.

Hands in her pockets, Jenny told him, "I need Blair to revoke my status as persona non grata."

"Oh?" he replied.

"Not for the reason you're thinking," Jenny snapped, "I don't particularly want to move back to Manhattan, at least not right now. Things are still weird, and I don't think I have the strength to face the We Hate Jenny Club every day. I'm still a little…" It was there that she stopped, and Chuck noticed she was rubbing her wrist over her jeans, the leather and metal bracelets catching on the fabric. "I'm just not ready for that," she finished, her voice hoarse.

Clearing her throat, she forced herself to continue. "It's not for me. It's for Eric. He won't leave me if he thinks I can't come home, and he wants to come home, Chuck. He's so homesick, and he's getting depressed but he won't see a damn doctor about it. I think if he just moved back home, he'd get better. He'd have Lily, and my dad, and you, and Serena, and he could see his friends in person instead of the occasional Skype chat."

"Just to clarify," Chuck began, "You want me to talk to Blair to get her to undo your sentencing so that you're free to come and go from Manhattan."

"Yes," Jenny nodded her affirmation.

"So that Eric will move back home," he concluded.

"Yes."

"Jennifer, that's…well, it's a tall order, first of all. Blair does as she pleases, and if she wants to make your life a living hell, she will. I'm finally back on Blair's good side, and things are going well. What do you think will happen if I sidle up to her at the breakfast table and whisper in her ear, 'so, darling, I think you should rescind your banishment of Jenny?' Nothing good, Little J. Nothing good will come of that. She may cut my balls off with the knife she's using to butter her toast."

"But?" Jenny asked. There was definitely a 'but' in there, she could hear it.

"But I don't want Eric to stay away because he feels some sort of obligation to keep you company. Which, by the way, is silly. The two of you are frighteningly codependent," Chuck commented idly.

She shot him a dark look. "You don't get it," was all she said.

That statement made him think that he certainly didn't 'get it.' There was something he was missing, something that Jenny wouldn't tell him because they weren't really friends and they weren't really family, but…

"Are you in trouble?" he asked instinctively, "Is something wrong?"

Much to his surprise, Jenny grinned. He thought the expression suited her. "I'm not," she shook her head, "I swear." The 'not anymore' was unspoken.

They walked side by side for a few more feet, and his limousine pulled back up next to them after having followed Chuck's instructions. He stopped.

So did she, anchored in place by her need for his answer.

Finally, Chuck looked at her and smiled his little half-smile. "I'll do what I can," he promised, "But it's going to take some time. I'll let you know when I come up with something." He opened the door himself and made to get in, but Jenny's voice stopped him.

"Chuck?"

He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"Thank you," she said.

Nodding, he stepped inside the vehicle, and rode away.

* * *

><p>The next day came too soon. Sunlight streaming through her windows made Jenny crack her eyes open. She groaned when she looked at the clock. Six AM was definitely too early. She got up anyway.<p>

If everything went well today, the hospital would probably release her dad, and she wanted to be there when they did, wanted to ride home with him and Lily in the car, and they could have waffles, and she would be daddy's little girl once more.

She knew it was a stupid hope, but it was there at the back of her mind sparkling like a diamond in the dark.

Her bathroom was empty. That was the nice thing about living with Lily: there were so many bathrooms! She and Eric did okay with the sharing in London. It was easier when they had different schedules. The one semester they'd had classes starting at the same time, they'd raced each other to the shower almost every day. Some days she was late; some days he was. Finally, they put modesty aside for the sake of efficiency, and they'd leave the door unlocked when they showered so the other could come and get ready.

It wasn't as weird as they'd thought it would be. The shower curtain was opaque, so it wasn't like either of them saw anything, and seeing each other walking around in a towel wasn't anything new. It was, Jenny thought, rather platonic, and because Eric was gay there really wasn't anything to be embarrassed about, not like when she lived with Dan, who would avert his gaze if he happened upon her in the same state of dress, towel wrapped around her from armpit to knees. It didn't matter that she was his sister, he was still a straight guy and she was still a girl in a towel, and he wasn't supposed to look at his sister like she was a girl in a towel. Eric didn't care if she ran around in a towel or her underwear or any other state of undress. He just didn't react. Eric's unflappability made him an awesome roommate.

Still, it was nice to just be able to wake up and take a leisurely shower, and not worry about getting done on time and saving enough hot water for her roommate. It was relaxing. For once she was able to step in the shower and stand under the blistering hot spray, and let it rinse away her troubled thoughts and pound out the tension in her back.

Moving carefully so that she didn't slip on the tile, Jenny wrapped herself in a huge, fluffy towel, tucking the ends neatly so that it would stay up on its own. She put her bracelets back on automatically, not really needing to look at her arm to get them done. Instead she looked in the mirror, following the movement of her hand with her eyes in the foggy parallel world pictured there. The girl in the looking glass appeared to be wide awake, her blonde hair falling around her face and shoulders in messy, wet locks. She wondered if maybe she should cut it, give it a different look. Jenny hadn't had a real hair cut in a long time, not since before she left Manhattan. Her hair kept getting longer and longer, and she only did enough maintenance on it to trim off the split ends and color her roots as they grew in. Maybe it was time for a change, something to make the outside match the changes she felt she'd undergone internally.

Her clothes for the day were rather simple, a wrap-around skirt she'd made one night when she was bored, the pattern of bold colored vertical stripes on white set off by a wide band that wrapped around her hips with barely visible black-on-black striping that echoed the bottom piece. The circular cut meant that it flared gently when she moved. To emphasize its shape, she slipped on a modest black petticoat underneath it. That made the skirt puff up just a little bit more in what she thought was an attractive amount of volume. Then came her shirt, a simple black knit shirt with short sleeves, completely ordinary but for the fact that the boat neck had an asymmetrical collar on it accented on the longest side by a mostly useless zipper. It was cute and a little punk rock, a little indie-kid. She wore her glasses instead of her contacts that day, deciding to play up the indie-kid, geek-chic look. Her black plastic frames surrounded her eyes, drawing attention to the huge blue orbs accented by the barest amount of eyeliner and mascara.

Jenny pulled her wet hair back in a messy braid, and stuffed her stocking clad feet into a pair of black leather booties. She felt a little more like herself that morning. It was a rare day that the fashion designer hopeful didn't look like a fashionista. She considered herself to be a walking advertisement for her talent. After all, wearing her own label was a great way to get noticed. Girls were always asking each other where they got their outfits, their shoes, their purses. Being able to say that she'd made her things herself often drummed up orders that Jenny filled on the side.

Pushing herself off of the bed, Jen finally left her room. She noted that Eric's door was still closed. It was only seven AM, after all, though he'd been sleeping for an awfully long time. When Jenny had come in the night before it was only a little after seven thirty, but Eric had already retreated to his room. She sincerely hoped he hadn't been sleeping that whole time. Excessive sleeping was a sign of depression, her main concern when it came to Eric's well-being.

She heard voices in the living room the further she got down the hallway, and Jenny poked her head around the corner to see who it was before she actually came out. A man she didn't recognize was seated in a chair before Lily's desk. Even though it was only seven o' clock, he was already wearing a business suit. His short, dark hair looked like it had a little gel in it, and he was smiling attractively at her step-mother, who was sitting on the opposite side of the desk still in her pajamas and house robe. She didn't have any of her customary make-up on yet, and her hair hung limp. Lily had her glasses on, and she was splitting her concentration between reading something on the desk in front of her and peppering the suited man with questions.

Jenny backed up and made a little more noise as she came down the hallway, announcing her presence. Lily looked up and smiled at her, saying, "Good morning, sweetie. How did you sleep?"

She answered as she made her way into the kitchen, pulling a bowl out of the cabinet, and cereal from the pantry. "Good, thanks. You?"

"I feel refreshed and ready to take on the world," Lily laughed lightly.

"Carpe diem," Jenny drawled wryly.

Her stepmom chuckled, replying, "Indeed."

Lily's guest was looking at her curiously, and Jenny cleared her throat, seeing that Lily wasn't quite as awake as she was pretending to be. She looked up from her papers again, looked back and forth between her step-daughter and her guest, and then cried, "Oh, how rude of me! Albert, this is my step-daughter, Jennifer. Jenny, this is Albert Greenwood. He and I are on the board at Bass Industries together." After the weird situation with the Thorpes, Chuck had given back Lily's position on the board. Thanks to the new deal they'd made with Thorpe's silent partner, the company was experiencing an up-swing, though Lily was now required to make weekly reports to Chuck on just how the company was doing. Not that she minded. If anything, Lily seemed more comfortable with the arrangement. It had never been her intention to run a company. Though she was organized and logical, she just didn't have the necessary education to do so. It suited her more to have someone to answer to.

However, that made Jenny wonder just what on earth she was doing, having a business meeting in her living room while wearing a bathrobe. Sitting at the kitchen table to eat, she avidly listened to their conversation, her curiosity insatiable.

"…so then that would be a logical move for the company to make…" Lily was saying.

"Yes, but we need Mr. Bass' approval to go ahead and make an offer," Albert replied.

"Of course," her stepmom began, "And I have Charles' ear, hence why you've come to me."

"There is a time crunch on this, Lily," the man said, and there was something in the way that he said her name that made Jenny uncomfortable.

Her stepmother sighed and took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes. "I realize that."

"The other board members think it's a sound plan."

"Again, I know that."

"I apologize for bringing this to you at your home. Under normal circumstances I would never consider it. I know this is a difficult time for you with your husband in the hospital," Albert stated with the appropriate amount of sympathy, "But we need to make a decision, and quickly. We've been in meetings for two days regarding this."

Lily shrugged one shoulder, an uncharacteristic move, and asked lightly, "If the board has already decided then what do you need me for?"

"Mr. Bass doesn't trust us." The man made a gesture with one hand, kind of a half-shrug, though it didn't seem very apologetic to Jenny. She was an expert on doing one thing and thinking another.

Lily scoffed. "With good reason. The debacle last year with the sale was…well, it damaged not only our professional relationship, but also my personal one with Charles."

"You thought you were doing the right thing," Albert defended her against her own self-recriminations.

"At the time," Lily agreed, "I thought I was protecting him. That was my mistake. Charles doesn't need my protection. We're getting back to being at a good place in our relationship."

"Which is why you should make the pitch," Albert interrupted, "It will sound much better coming from you, and it will go over easier."

She sighed, the hand holding a pen in it wiggling anxiously on the table.

Albert reached out and covered it with his own. "Lily, you know this is the right way to play this."

Glancing up, her stepmother stated, "Yes, but I don't want to rely on my personal connection to Charles in order to manipulate him into going along with the status quo. I don't want to jeopardize my connection with him again." Then she seemed to realize that Albert was still touching her, and she gently disengaged from him. "I'll give it some thought, Mr. Greenwood," she conceded as she rose. "Let me see you out."

"Of course," Greenwood stated as he stood up and followed her to the elevator. "Please give me a call later informing me of your decision." The bell dinged, announcing the lift's arrival on their floor, and the doors open and shut with a hushed noise.

Lily came back around the corner a moment later, and smiled a little at Jenny. "You're up early today."

Shrugging, Jenny replied, "I couldn't sleep anymore."

"So after I get ready are you up to going to the hospital with me?" her stepmom asked hopefully.

Nodding, she told Lily, "Yep. Just let me know when you're ready to go."

Lily returned her nod with a relieved smile and headed up the stairs to her room, no doubt going straight to the master bath for a punishing shower of her own.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

Hollowed

Chapter Six

Fandom: Gossip Girl

Pairing: Nate/Jenny

Rating: M

Warnings: angst

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

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><p>Notes: Up until this point, I've been writing a chapter in Jenny's point of view followed by a chapter in Nate's point of view. I'm breaking from that formula this chapter. Chuck was talking to me, so I decided to start with him, and then everything else just kind of flowed from there.<p>

Disclaimer: Not mine. Neither is the game Jenga.

* * *

><p>Two years ago, Chuck did something that imploded little Jenny Humphrey's entire life. He wasn't proud of it, and whenever he thought of his estranged pseudo-sibling it was accompanied by a searing pang of regret. In hindsight, he should have realized that having sex with Jennifer was going to have wide-spread consequences. In hindsight, he should have realized that <em>of course<em> Blair was going to put the majority share of the blame on Jenny and not himself, even though she knew full well that it took two to tango, so to speak. In hindsight, he wished he hadn't been such a damn coward and defended Jenny at the out-set.

Hindsight was a bitch.

Once Jenny came to him with her heartfelt plea to assist her in getting her banishment by Manhattan's "queen," Blair, revoked, he couldn't stop himself from saying yes. Part of Chuck felt that he owed it to her to do so. It was their actions, their mistake that had toppled the precarious balance of Jennifer's life like pulling out the wrong block in a game of _Jenga_ and watching the tower collapse to the tabletop.

It didn't hurt that Jennifer had also dangled the one carrot that she knew for certain would get a rise out of Chuck. They both had a vested interest in Eric's well-being. He was Chuck's step-brother, technically his adoptive brother once Chuck signed the papers that made him, in the eyes of the law, Lily's son. The connection meant something to him. Chuck didn't have any family of his own left. His mother died when he was born, his father made his exit by catastrophic car crash, and his uncle hated him. Lily and the rest of his adopted family were all he had left, and even though he'd never considered Dan and Jenny Humphrey to be a part of that, by the complicated layers of their lives, they were.

So he was committed to the cause.

The problem was finding a way to get Blair to listen that did not involve speaking to her directly. Though he loved Blair, he could only imagine the kind of dramatics that would ensue if he tried to speak on behalf of the woman whose banishment he was partially responsible for. The last thing he wanted to do was endanger his relationship with Blair, especially not when they were finally back at a place that was good.

That left him to devising something sneaky and underhanded, and Chuck was fairly certain that he had a brilliant idea. His conversation with Nathaniel that morning echoed in his head. He couldn't ignore the way the muscle in Nathaniel's jaw jumped when they began to speak of Chuck's carnal moment with Jennifer, the storm inside of his friend's blue eyes as his words grew more and more crude, or his bringing up the topic of Jenny Humphrey at all. It all left Chuck with one conclusion: there was still something there. Even after so much time, so much hit-and-miss, and melodramatics, Nate still possessed some sort of feeling for Jennifer, Chuck was sure of it. He didn't know if it was friendship and big brother protectiveness, or something darker, possessive, _erotic _(and infinitely more fun to Chuck's way of thinking), but the depth or brand of the emotion didn't matter to him. He didn't need to know the specifics for his plan to work.

All he needed to do was get Nathaniel and Jennifer alone together in a room, or at least surrounded by people none of them knew; he was confident the rest would work itself out. Nathaniel would approach Jenny first, Chuck knew, because Nathaniel was obsessive and a glutton for punishment like that. Jennifer would act sullen at first and reluctant to speak. She'd throw in a few barbed quips, because that was Jenny's way of dealing with hurt feelings and confusion. Then the next thing they knew they'd have talked it out and become fast friends again, and Nathaniel would be only too eager to ride to Jenny's defense and confront Blair.

It was perfect. Chuck simply needed to go saddle the white knight's steed and point him in the right direction. Nathaniel's own personality and emotions would do the rest of the work.

With that thought in mind, Chuck called up his oldest friend from the office. He slowly rolled a ball point pen across his blotter, waiting for Nathaniel to pick up.

"Hey, Chuck. What do you want? Didn't you just leave here a couple hours ago?" Nate asked after he picked up the phone.

With a smirk, Chuck replied, "I may have. Time drags by so slowly at the office on a Saturday, I can hardly tell. It may have been a millennia."

Scoffing, Nate replied, "Yeah, right. So what's up?"

"I was sitting here thinking—"

"Procrastinating?" his friend quipped back with false innocence.

"That too," Chuck admitted with a dry laugh, "In any case, I was thinking that it's been a long time since I've gone out carousing."

"Carousing?"

"Carousing," the boy billionaire confirmed seriously, "Nothing too risqué. I am a happily taken man, after all. However, a little fun wouldn't go amiss. Some drinking, perhaps some buxom blondes wiggling their assets to their best advantage for my hard-earned dollars, maybe a game of billiards. What do you say?"

Nate didn't even hesitate as he replied. "Sure, sounds fun, man. When and where?"

"Tonight. Ten o' clock. Victrola."

Laughing, Nate wondered, "Don't you ever get tired of that place? You don't even own it anymore."

"Nathaniel," Chuck shot back, his voice firm, "One never tires of ladies of questionable taste demonstrating just how far they can bend on stage. Whether I own it or not is beside the point."

With another chuckle, his friend said, "Okay, okay. Victrola. Ten P.M. See you there."

Hanging up without another word, Chuck's next order of business was to make sure one Jennifer Humphrey was in place at the appropriate time. He didn't call her, preferring instead to send her a text message that would not show up on his cell phone bill should Blair become nosy. It was very succinct and left no room for argument.

_3:34 P.M. 10pm, Victrola. Look mature. I'll leave your name at the door. –C_

* * *

><p>"Look mature, he says," Jenny muttered to herself as she stomped back up to her dad's hospital room, "<em>Look mature<em>." She scoffed. "Like I don't look mature enough. What a douche. Like I need to 'look mature' to get into Victrola. What ever happened to 'I'm Chuck Bass, I can do anything, people fawn over my every whim and if they don't fawn, I will simply terrify them into submission,' huh?"

She quieted down as she realized that the other occupants stepping onto the elevator were shooting her odd looks, but in the reflective sides she could see herself pouting, arms crossed over her chest. A more direct look at her image made her reevaluate her ire. Perhaps the d-bag did have a point. She hated admitting it; it physically pained her to say that Chuck was right about anything. However, one look at her overly long, overly blonde hair, and her cute but slightly youthful clothes revealed the truth. She'd never get into Victrola looking as she did. She would be carded at the door and promptly tossed out on her ass, and she didn't have enough cash to bribe the bouncer.

Stepping off on the correct floor, Jenny took a minute in the waiting room to simply breathe and let her body relax. Nobody could know that she was stressing out. What she was up to was a mission of the utmost secrecy. She was Double-Oh-Jenny.

She felt the old mask slide into place, and by the time she was walking down the hallway she was already concocting a way to get what she needed done without lying to her family about it.

When she slipped into the room, she noticed that it was crowded. The doctor was in the room, and Eric had arrived, and Lily was hovering anxiously next to her dad's bed. She pressed herself against the wall, just trying to stay out of the way.

"…so we'll go ahead and get started on your paperwork, Mr. Humphrey. I admit, we're still a little puzzled as to the cause of your arrhythmia, but since you've stabilized we've been monitoring your condition and everything looks fine. I feel confident that this was one of those one-in-a-million freak happenings. Continue to take your medication as usual, and please schedule a follow-up with your physician in a month," the man in the white lab coat was saying as he marked on her dad's chart. He was older, balding, and had a look of no-nonsense around his mouth that immediately made Jenny feel more reassured.

Lily must have been confident in his care as well, because she squeezed Rufus' hand and chirped, "Well, that's wonderful, honey, don't you think?"

Her dad looked up at his wife with the most adorable, goopy expression on his face a second before he grinned and told her, "I told you I was fine, Lil."

Lily rolled her eyes in response, and Eric chuckled at their exchange, sitting in a chair by the window, his laptop open and no doubt plugged into the free wi-fi.

Jenny smiled politely at the doctor as he left the room, and she stepped in to take his place, saying cheerily, "That's great, dad! You're getting released!"

He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling up, and stated, "It'll be good to be home."

Her lips wobbled a bit as something finally occurred to her. "So then, I guess we should probably get back to London then, hey?"

Eric's head shot up from the laptop, his eyes narrowed. There was a protest on the tip of his tongue, she could see it, but he didn't actually voice it.

Lily and her dad both hesitated. "Well," Rufus began, "I'd hate for you to miss more class and fall behind, but…" His voice trailed off.

"But," Lily picked up with a hopeful little grin, "It would be nice if you could stay a few more days. It feels like you just got here. We'd hate to see you both vanish so soon. We miss you."

"If," her father interrupted, "You both think you can handle the time off."

Jenny and Eric shared a look. She raised an eyebrow. He broke into a grin. Her smile followed on the tail end of his. "I'll contact our professors," Eric told Rufus, "I don't think they'll have a problem with it."

Jenny let out a little woop, and turned back to her parents. "So," she drawled mischievously, "Lily, I was wondering since dad's coming home in a couple hours if you want to come have some girly time with me. I really need a haircut, and maybe a stint at the stores."

Like Jenny had thought it would, Lily's face lit up. "Yes, absolutely! As soon as we get your father settled in at home. Right, honey?" she looked to her husband.

He frowned a little, eyes bouncing back and forth between his daughter and his wife. His hesitation gave Jenny pause, and she wondered what he was thinking about. Finally, he looked at Lily. "Just don't go overboard," he said seriously.

Lily raised her eyebrows at him, obviously just as confused, but she agreed with a slow nod of her head. "I won't, darling."

* * *

><p>Nate had been wondering when Chuck was going to start chomping at the bit, and it seemed the time had come. He knew from personal experience that Blair could be a handful sometimes. She was controlling, and a perfectionist, and spoiled. She thought that anybody who didn't bow to her whim was clearly out of their minds, and then she'd often set out to make them pay for the slight somehow. On the other hand, she was also incredibly loyal, had no problems generously giving things to her inner circle of friends, and had a heart that wouldn't quit, at least when it came to Chuck.<p>

However, Nate could understand how all that would begin to wear on a man. Half of his youth had been spent dating Blair Waldorf, and if he hadn't been such a pothead, he probably wouldn't have survived it.

He eyed the TV screen again, but he was sick of watching television. He'd gone for a long run, and then for a swim in the building's pool. He had flirted with the woman who lived down the hall from him, a pretty brunette with café au lait colored skin and long legs that looked particularly good in her bikini, but hadn't taken the lure she'd thrown out when she quietly asked if he'd like to join her for lunch in her apartment. It was unlike him. Nate had a tendency to always take the bait. It was one of the things he was coming to realize about himself that was less than charming. Any attractive woman crooking her finger at him set him to circling around her like a hungry dog, whether or not he truly liked the woman's personality. He fell in lust quickly and easily, and painted a picture of what he thought that woman should be like rather than what she really was. It was, aside from his endless indecisiveness, one of his worst qualities, or at least that's what Nate thought.

He was always falling for the wrong women, and getting hurt or used in the process. It was time that he started changing that. Nate needed to gather the reins of his libido and pull back. He needed to take the time to actually get to know the women he got involved with, not the ideal of them that existed in his head.

Turning off the TV, Nate stood up and stretched, and then walked into the kitchen, sitting down at the table with his laptop. Better to throw himself into work, even if it was work that he was beginning to hate doing.

* * *

><p>"What was that all about?" Jenny wondered later on when it was just her and Lily seated side by side at the salon.<p>

"Hmm?" Lily had her eyes closed, enjoying the attentions of the stylist as she massaged Lily's scalp.

"Dad? 'Don't go overboard'?" she dropped her voice, doing a half-hearted impression of a man.

"Oh," Lily's lips quirked upward. "Your father has concluded that it was my money, and my willingness to give it to you that sparked your downward spiral."

Jen tried not to laugh, but failed, and ended up pushing out a sound that was more like a cough captured behind closed lips.

"That's how I feel about it too," Lily stated, "But you know your father. It's hard to dissuade him once he's got his mind set on something. You're like him that way." Her stepmom's eyes opened up, and pinned Jenny in place with a wry look.

She squirmed in her seat a little, and the stylist behind her clamped a hand on her shoulder. "Stay still," the woman said, her voice accented with the waves of the Caribbean.

Jenny forced herself into place, though she couldn't quite relax. "The idea that your money is what was responsible for my bad behavior is stupid," Jenny finally bit out, "I was having problems long before you and dad married."

"I know that," Lily replied serenely, closing her eyes once more.

"Then…then why didn't you just tell him that?" she wondered out loud.

Her stepmom gave a little laugh and then a tired sigh. "I've tried, sweetie. He just doesn't understand how it is to be a teenage girl. I tried telling him that I went through a similar phase, as did Serena. I have tried explaining to him how this is something that all teenagers undergo in slightly different variations. Dan had an affair with a teacher, and with Georgina Sparks, for god's sake; he wrote a story satirizing everyone in his life—"

"Except for me," Jenny broke in.

With a glance at her, and a sad little tip of her chin in acknowledgement, Lily replied, "Except for you; you weren't in the book at all, which I found…surprising. You must admit, your character at the time would have been very interesting to read about."

"Dan doesn't like me anymore," Jenny told her stepmother bluntly. "He hasn't for a long time. I'm not surprised that he didn't include me in his book. He included Blair fucking Waldorf, but not his own sister…because she is an unforgivable wretch."

"Oh, honey-" Lily began sadly.

Her hand shot up, bracelets jingling and sliding against each other, Jenny stopping whatever platitudes her adoring stepmother was about to offer her. "Don't. I know what they think of me. I don't need you to hold my hand and give me loving lies. I've accepted who I was, and what I did, and if my punishment is to let them hate me then so be it. It could always be worse," she finished quietly.

They were silent for awhile, the space filled up with the gentle snip of scissor tips, and the swish of her hair as it slid against the stylist's cape and fell to the ground. Jenny glanced down, watching the long locks of her hair pile up on the wood floor.

Finally, Lily stated, "For what it's worth, I think you've grown into an intelligent, mature young woman, though your penchant for keeping secrets still worries me a bit."

"Secrets?" Jenny responded.

"Jennifer," her stepmother sighed, "In a lot of ways I think I understand you better than I do my own daughter. We're both illusionists, of a sort. We project what we want other people to see, and mostly that's the good things about us. I know there's another reason that you wanted to go shopping with me today. I know that you probably considered lying to us and sneaking off on your own to affect this transformation, but you realized the easier way would be to include us without giving your entire reason for doing so…and I know you, Jennifer; there will always be a reason. Just like me, you never do anything without one."

Their eyes locked, blue on hazel. They were completely different in color, but both held a guarded look in them. Lily was right, Jenny thought, they were both illusionists. The skin under her bracelets felt itchy. She rubbed her wrist against the armrest, trying to assuage the irritation. This moment was a rare one, where Lily let her walls be seen, as did Jenny. They were more alike than anyone else in their families, which was truly odd since she and Jenny were only related by law. Finally, Jenny let a small, wry smile appear on her face. "Blair banished me from Manhattan three years ago."

"What?" Lily frowned, her forehead pinching with lines. "Darling, that's not possible. This is America. The law states you can go wherever you like."

Shrugging, Jenny replied, "That may be technically true. However, Blair has contacts in places that I don't. Believe me, if she wanted to make my life miserable, she's more than capable of it. The only reason I'm still here is because she grants me what amounts to a parley in times of emergency or major holidays." There was something incredibly good about finally telling someone, an _adult_, about the ridiculousness of her life; about the ridiculousness of Blair Waldorf, up on her throne snubbing her nose at everybody else.

If possible, Lily frowned even more. "Honey, that's illegal. I'm not sure what the actual charge would be—harassment, maybe—but it's illegal. She can't _banish_ you. Blair is not a queen. This is a free country."

With a hearty sigh, Jenny muttered, "I knew you wouldn't get it." Then louder, she told her stepmom, "You of all people should know that things are different here on the Upper East Side; _people_ are different here. Money is power here, and Blair has a lot of it. When I interviewed with Tim Gunn, she found out and had someone tag my collection with red paint. I didn't find out until the models came into the room and stood up on the platform. I was so humiliated. She _ruined_ my chances of getting into Parsons."

Lily looked appalled and heartbroken. She had known Blair practically since the girl was in diapers. Blair and Serena were practically sisters. To hear all of those things was rocking the foundation of her world. "Sweetie, that's illegal. Why didn't you say anything?" she croaked.

"Who would believe me?" Jen asked coolly. "There was no evidence. There's never any evidence where Blair is concerned. She's very smart that way. Anyway," she hesitated, and then decided to put a more positive spin on the situation. She wasn't trying to tattle on Blair or get her into trouble; she was explaining to Lily what was going on, what _had_ been going on under their very noses all this time. "Blair may not have been within her rights to do what she did, but unknowingly she actually did me a favor. I was fragile then, and falling apart. I was trying to be an adult when I was still just a child; I was trying to fit into this world when I knew I never really would, and I was resentful of the sidelong glances and the whispers behind my back that told me I would always just be little Jenny Humphrey, the scholarship kid from Brooklyn. I needed to leave. I needed to find out who I was away from the expectations and condemnations of others; I needed to restore my self-confidence and my self-worth before I could come back here. I was just reluctant to go; Blair forcing me away was the best thing that could have happened to me then."

"That's…" Lily sounded choked up, like she on the verge of tears, and she cleared her throat. "That's a very mature way to look at it."

Jenny shrugged. "I guess so. I can either accept it and choose to see the positive side, or I can spend the rest of my life holding a grudge against her for it. I don't want to be angry anymore. I don't want to be the person that I was." She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling on the verge of tears herself. "Anyway, I asked Chuck if he would help me find a way to talk to Blair and get my 'banishment' revoked. I'm not the same person I was back then. I've grown, changed; I can handle this world now, because I know who I am with or without it, and it would be nice if I could come home whenever I wanted, and walk around the city without worrying whether or not Blair Waldorf is going to drop a piano on my head." She deliberately left out the part about her concern for Eric, and how reluctant her step-brother was to leave her because that opened up a whole other discussion that Jenny was incredibly reticent about having.

"I see," Lily murmured, and fiddled with her hands underneath the cape, the black fabric puffing out slightly and then settling back down as she folded her arms.

"He asked me to meet him tonight, and I was in the elevator. I looked to the side and I saw the old Jenny Humphrey. I guess all the sneaking around I've done in the past few days has made me question just how much I really have changed, if I've changed at all. I know I have, but it's just…"

"It instilled doubt in you," Lily finished her thought for her.

"Yes, exactly," Jenny smiled at her with relief that she understood. "I guess I needed to remind myself that I really am different. I needed to make my outward appearance match my inner landscape."

They were quiet for another long moment as the stylist made some final snips to Jenny's hair, and then the dark-skinned woman spun the chair around so that she faced the tall, gilt-edged mirror. Her hair was short again, cut in a simple bob that ended at her chin. It was parted down the side, and her bangs flowed effortlessly into the cut. Her hair framed her face, bringing out the angle of her cheekbones and jaw, highlighting the fact that her tender baby fat had fallen away over the years.

"It's perfect," she smiled at the stylist.

The woman beamed and bobbed her head. "Wonderful. I'll go mix your colors now, okay?"

"Okay," Jenny said, and nodded back at her.

Peripherally, she could see that Lily was also looking at her and smiling, her stylist having concluded her trim ages ago and applying dye to Lily's roots. "You look beautiful," her stepmother stated, "Grown-up."

"Thanks," Jennifer replied shyly.

"Now," Lily stated, "I suppose you'll be needing a dress and some shoes for this secret meeting of yours. If I know Charles, he's selected some place outrageously high class and expensive, some place that serves his favorite scotch most likely." She winked, and it surprised a laugh out of Jenny. "Don't worry," her stepmom continued, "I won't tell your father. I understand that this is something you need to do yourself. It's always hard to stand up to a bully, and it seems that's what Blair has been doing to you, but it only becomes worse when the parents get involved."

Jen laughed and agreed emphatically, and then they began to discuss where they should go shop after they concluded their visit at the salon.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

Hollowed

Chapter Seven

Fandom: Gossip Girl

Pairing: Nate/Jenny

Rating: M

Warnings: angst, references to past events

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

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><p>Notes: If you would like to see Jenny's dress, you may go here: <em>http : tinyurl (dot) com/78mkekh_. Remove the spaces and (dot), and replace with a period. "Raison d'etre" is French for 'reason for being.'

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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><p>Surveying herself in the mirror once more, Jenny fought the urge to tug at the hem of her dress. She tried smiling, but it trembled with nerves. In an objective way, she knew she looked good. The young woman in the mirror looking back at her was tall with dark blonde hair shot through with tiny lighter blonde highlights and caramel lowlights, the stands shaped into a bob that ended at her chin. Without all the hair in the way, she could see that her cheeks had lost their baby fat, and there was a subtle turn to her jaw that said 'this is an adult.' The color also was more grown up, and closer to her natural color than she'd gotten in years.<p>

Her blue eyes were rimmed with a tasteful amount of kohl black, the tips drawn up into delicate cats-eye points. Mascara made her lashes longer, and her lips were a neutral pinkish-taupe.

For the first time Jenny noticed that her breasts were bigger, her shoulders not quite as miniscule. Her waist had taken on a delicious curve that somehow still looked right on her slender limbs, and her hips had widened a little. Somehow, she had bloomed into a woman. Oh, she'd noticed the changes from a dresser's perspective. Her measurements changed, she adjusted the mannequin. This, however, was the first time that she bothered to look at them, to _see_. She wasn't the same skinny little girl who'd left before, who'd run away because she didn't know how to fix anything.

Her dress was red, because why not? She'd loved it the minute she set eyes on it in Bergdorf's, and Lily had clearly seen it even though Jenny had determinedly marched onward to find the clearance rack. It was after twenty minutes and three times as many rejected dresses that Lily finally smiled at her, and said, "Sweetie, why don't you try the red one on the mannequin? We both know you've got your heart set on it."

"If I had more time," Jenny had sighed, "I could make something similar, but…"

"But you need a dress tonight. Consider it my treat. Your father will never know the amount on the price tag," her stepmother grinned and held out her pinky.

With a squeal and a giggle, Jenny hooked her pinky with Lily's and then threw her arms around her elegant stepmother's waist in a tight hug.

The dress looked amazing on her. The hem stopped a few inches above her knees, displaying her long, supple legs to their best advantage, and the vermillion red looked amazing against her light skin. It was sleeveless with both a deep vee in the front and the back, and the body was cut with asymmetric pieces of fabric ruched along the bias. Pamela Rolland certainly knew what she was doing.

Of course, a new dress meant new shoes as well. The peep toe Manolos glittered a little bit on her feet. They were silver, edged in pale gold, and picked to match the wide metal cuff bracelet she was wearing in place of her usual tangled mess of jewelry, smooth silver with a golden 3D snake welded to the top with little white rhinestones for eyes. It paid to have the right friends in art school. Lily loaned her a pair of diamond earrings as well, just a set of tasteful studs, and told her that no outfit was complete until it had the right accessories.

"If I didn't know any better," Lily chuckled, "I'd almost say were going out on a date."

Jenny laughed uproariously at that. Her poor parents still had no idea that all those years ago she'd slept with the great Chuck Bass, despite the Gossip Girl blast that had gone out about it. She had no intention of ever telling them. It was better to leave the past in the past. "God, no," she finally wheezed, "I just need to make sure I can get into the club."

"You're not going to drink, are you?" Lily looked worried as she perched on the end of Jenny's bed.

Scoffing, Jennifer replied, "I probably won't even be there long enough…but no, I don't intend to order any drinks. I can't risk being carded." Her response was blunt, and Lily blinked at the honesty there.

"If you…" Her stepmother paused, pursed her lips and then began again. "If you get in a tough spot and you…you need anything, call me, okay? No judgments, no recriminations. I will come and get you, wherever you are, no matter the time. I don't care if you're drunk or…or high or _whatever_; I just want you to be safe."

Glancing over her shoulder at Lily, Jenny's smile softened, and she nodded seriously. "Thanks, Lily. I won't be getting drunk though, and I don't do drugs at all, and I know better than to let strange men bring me drinks without a sealed cap on them. I'll be careful. Hell, I'll probably be home before midnight. I can't imagine Blair letting Chuck out of her sight for that long."

"Okay," Lily agreed and stood up, stretching a little. "You know, it's lucky for you that Eric went out to catch up with Jonathan."

"Yes, it is," Jenny agreed. "I hate lying to him."

"And that your father's enjoying sleeping in his own bed again," she chuckled.

"Yep," she agreed again. One last look in the mirror gave her the sense of approval she'd been craving, and then Jenny shrugged on her trench coat. Impulsively, she tugged Lily into another hug. "Thank you again. For everything. For being so nice to me, and listening to me, and letting me take care of this without interfering. Thank you for being my fairy godmother for the night, and buying me this beautiful dress and my very own pair of glass slippers." With her chin on her stepmother's shoulder, she inhaled the smell of her perfume, something light and unobtrusive like cherry blossoms on a rushing river right after it rained, and something in her chest tightened painfully and squeaked out the word 'home.' Lily smelled like home the same way that fresh waffles did, and the no-nonsense smell of her dad, like wood and metal and Selsun Blue shampoo.

Jenny pulled away before she started crying, and forced herself to smile, to force the loneliness away. "Bye," she grinned, and flounced out the door.

* * *

><p>Nate was waiting for Chuck at Victrola. It was ten after ten, and he was swirling the ice in his empty glass already, ankle hooked over the opposite knee as he lounged in Chuck's favorite spot, the couch set front and center at the main stage. The girls were beautiful, of course—<em>still, always<em>, beautiful. They wouldn't bring in much cash if they weren't attractive.

The current number involved three different dancers, one of them wearing a circus ringman's jacket cut high, showing off a fair amount of her stomach, tiny panties, and little else besides a top hat. The other two dancers were dressed as very skimpy circus animals, and they writhed and leapt across the stage with perfect grace.

Chuck was missing a good show, he thought.

However, Nate was growing bored waiting. The least Chuck could do was be punctual. It reminded him of when they were young and Chuck was always twenty or thirty minutes late to get anywhere. Nate hadn't minded waiting so much back then. He was so high that he barely noticed the passage of time then. Now, however, things were different. Nate was clear-headed, and a constant ball of stress, vibrating with tension no matter how hard he tried to sink into the cushions, to let the surreal atmosphere transport him somewhere else. He'd never realized how high-strung he was without herbal aid.

Sighing, he sent Chuck a text message asking where he was, and got up to go to the bar. He could have signaled for a waitress, but he wanted to get up and stretch anyway. He walked across the room, politely avoiding the ensnaring gazes of the dancers. He wanted another drink, not a dance. Nate had figured out a long time ago that he was a good looking guy. He couldn't quite remember when it was. Maybe back when he was twelve and Blair tried to make him into her life-sized Ken doll; maybe when he was fifteen and Serena slept with her best friend's boyfriend regardless of the damage it would cause; maybe it was when he was seventeen and the much-older, married Catherine made him into a gigolo, and blackmailed him just to keep him near her. Somewhere in all of that he'd concluded that women would do crazy, out-of-character things for a guy with a pretty face, for a guy that looked the way he did. Unfortunately, he kept trying to believe the best in people, and having to relearn that tough lesson. Sometimes Nate wanted to beat some sense into himself. Why did he insist on being so damn naïve?

The bar was crowded, and Nate sidled up, putting his empty glass on the dark, wooden bar top, and raising a couple fingers in the air to signal the bartender. The man in the bowler hat nodded back at him and held up a finger to get him to wait. There was a line, and at Victrola no amount of money would get him pushed to the front of it. Nobody knew who he was, not by sight at least, and he had no intention of dropping his name in this place.

Instead he let his eyes wander, taking in the dancers, and the crowd, and the other patrons at the bar. One thing caught his eyes, a bright speck of red amidst the darker clothing of the other patrons. The woman had her back to him, perched on a stool that was twisted to one side, and her hair was short enough that he could see a lovely expanse of pale, slender skin between the low vee of the back of her dress. She was talking with the man next to her, and he was smiling, laughing at whatever she was saying, his eyes lidded with lust. Nate understood the feeling. As he watched, her head tipped slightly to one side, and the strands of her short, blonde hair slid away, exposing the nape of her neck and the upper notches of her spine. He was hit with a wave of want so intense that he had to close his eyes and just breathe through it. His lips tingled with the urge to kiss her there, and he pressed them together tightly to make the need dissipate.

When he opened his eyes again, the woman had turned back to her drink, sipping demurely out of the cocktail glass some kind of deep red liquid. Nate's eyes widened when it hit him that he knew that profile, that long, dark sweep of lashes, and the devilish grin on her face. He was moving before he'd even consciously thought to do so. He was at her shoulder before he knew it, his voice incredulous as he called, "Jenny?"

Startled, the woman turned quickly, and her crossed legs collided with his. "Ow!" she cried, and he winced, rubbing his bad knee. "Nate?" Her eyes locked with his, that cool, icy blue that somehow always managed to sear him from the inside out. He offered her a little half-smile and a shrug as though to say, 'the one and only.'

"Hey, Jenny," he grinned, and put his hand on the bar top, making sure that the guy sitting next to her, chatting her up, knew for a fact that she was off limits. God, she was barely more than a girl. A man his age should not be drooling all over her and stealing glances down the front of her dress, no matter how the vee cut emphasized the soft inner curves of her breasts and the enticing line of her cleavage. He mentally slapped himself and dragged his eyes back up to hers.

Her lips were opened in a tiny 'o' of surprise, and he thought the neutral lip color looked more stunning on her than the thick, dark colors she'd been wearing the last time he really saw her, three years ago. Suddenly her lips thinned, a steely glint entering her eyes. "Go away," she hissed.

"Who's this?" the man over her shoulder asked. He was good looking with dark hair and eyes, and tan skin that said he either spent a lot of time traveling in sunnier climes or he hit the tanning beds fairly often. Nate thought disgustedly that his smile was slimy, teeth too white and wide, like a shark. He wanted to devour sweet, little Jenny.

"Nobody," she shot over her shoulder, "An old friend."

"That's right," Nate agreed with false pleasantry in his tone, "So let's go catch up, _friend_."

Jenny turned back to him with narrowed eyes, the little straw pursed between her lips as she sucked the liquid up its length. The lime green briefly turned the color of a violet bruise. After she swallowed, her pink tongue made a brief appearance as she forced the straw out of her mouth, and she calmly replied, "Fuck off."

Smiling tensely at the man behind her who was looking unsure as to whether he should interfere, Nate told him in a clipped voice, "Complicated friendship. Didn't end well." The man's eyes widened in understanding, and a second later he slid off of his stool and walked away.

Jenny shot him an exasperated look as he perched in the vacated spot, and spat out acidly, "Thanks, Nate. Twatblock."

He winced at such a crude word coming out of her mouth, which no doubt had been her intended effect. Nate was starting to remember just how good Jenny was at derailing people, at manipulating them into thinking what she wanted them to think. He asked her before he lost his train of thought again, "What are you doing here?"

She glanced around with a furrowed brow, and then turned her attention back to him. "What does it look like? I'm sightseeing, and quite enjoying it."

"Jenny, you don't even _like_ girls," Nate retorted.

Jenny knew she was going to have to answer some awkward questions, and she was thinking everything up on the fly. She'd been totally unprepared to see Nate, and Jenny didn't like being caught off guard. She rolled her eyes at him, drawling in what she hoped was her most casual tone, "Jeez, Nate, I'm in college. Age of experimentation and all that." She let her eyes wander over the nearest dancer up on a little dais, her plump ass looking like a sweet temptation in ruffled panties, let herself truly appreciate the sight in a way that would show in her eyes. Another illusion. True, college was the age of experimentation, and Jenny wasn't always so picky when it came to her partners. However, she still preferred men. There was no need to tell that to Nate though. She just had to get through this awkward encounter and get the fuck out of there, Chuck be damned. Meeting with him would have to wait.

"Okay," Nate replied, his eyes just as narrow as hers while he studied her up and down. "Then come have a seat with me. I've got a spot reserved with a much better vantage than the bar can offer you."

Damn, she thought, even while she was smiling and agreeing, moving to her feet. Jenny followed him to the front of the club, yanking her cell phone out of her little clutch purse and typing furiously.

_Where the hell are you? Nate is here! –J_

She tucked the phone way again, and sat on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other. It would, of course, be the seat right up in front, so there was no way not to look at the dancers unless she wanted to look at Nate. She didn't. That would invite conversation, and Jenny wasn't sure she wanted to hear anything that Nate had to say.

He was up to his old behavior, trying to shove her into the box labeled 'child' in bold, black ink. He was trying to save her from the debauchery of the club, and maybe herself, and while sometimes she thought that was an admirable trait in him, now it was just annoying. She wasn't a little girl anymore, and really if she wanted to go to a cabaret that was her prerogative. And she could handle that man she'd been talking to! She was guarding her drink, and it was just cranberry juice; it wasn't like she was getting all shit-faced.

Nate's phone let out some kind of loud tone, and he hit the screen, calling up the message. He sighed, and tucked the phone away.

"What?" Jenny asked.

"It's Chuck. He was supposed to meet me here. Instead he's canceling. You know, I'm happy for him and Blair, but it'd be nice to get my friend back every once in awhile," Nate replied, clearly annoyed.

Jenny was just starting to get a weird feeling that they'd been set up when her phone vibrated in her purse. She unsnapped the flap, and reached in, unlocking the screen to let her own text message show.

_You can thank me later. –C_

She typed back quickly, 'You're an asshole,' and then put her phone away.

"You get ditched too?" Nate wondered, his eyes discreetly turned away to watch the dancers.

With a sigh, Jenny told him, "No, it was just Eric wondering where I am." She couldn't very well tell him that they were supposed to meet the same man, that said man had maneuvered them both into going to Victrola so that they would undoubtedly end up burying the hatchet between them, or something. She couldn't tell him anything because then he would wonder what exactly she and Chuck were doing together and if Blair knew, and then Nate would get his panties in a twist and run to tell Blair about it, completely dismantling all of Jenny's plans to get pardoned. Better to lie than gamble on Nate's loyalty to her. He'd proven in the past that he would always put Blair, Chuck, and Serena above everyone else in his life, and she wasn't even really a part of his life. He didn't owe her anything.

Her nails drummed on the bare skin of her thigh, and from the corner of her eye she saw Nate watching. Feeling playful, or maybe it was demonic, she shifted, uncrossing her legs and then crossing them again the opposite direction. She discreetly hiked up her dress another inch as she did so, and got a thrill as Nate's eyes widened as his gaze roamed over her skin. At least she could soothe herself knowing that Nate was still attracted to her, though it didn't really change anything. They were still former friends, maybe former flames, and she was still the saboteur who'd tried to destroy his relationship with Serena all those years ago.

* * *

><p>Nate cleared his throat. He was having a hard time viewing this new, sophisticated Jenny as the same girl he'd once tried to be a big brother figure to, and she definitely wasn't the sixteen year old girl he'd kissed on a street corner.<p>

"So, uh, how've you been?" He tripped over his words, and signaled a server who pranced over promptly in her high heels and short-shorts, her white vest tight over an ample chest.

The cocktail waitress smiled with bright red lips and dark, sensuously curled hair. "What can I get you?"

"Maker's Mark on the rocks," he told her.

"And for you, honey?" the woman asked, her eyes alighting on Jenny.

Glancing up from the stage, he watched as Jenny took in the waitress' appearance—seriously, when did Jenny develop an interest in girls; was that always there and he just hadn't noticed? Nate staunchly did not imagine Jenny's long, slender limbs twined with the voluptuous waitress, how they'd look like a bright star and the dark side of the moon merging together. He swallowed.

Jenny crooked her finger at the waitress. The woman bent, and Jenny swept her dark, lustrous curls aside with one hand, lips moving next to the server's ear. Pulling away, she grabbed Jenny's glass with a smile and wink. "Sure thing, sweetheart," she drawled and sauntered off, a seductive sway in her step.

"What'd you order?" Nate found himself asking, though it was merely out of curiosity, not judgment. At least he didn't think it was.

Glancing at him, Jenny shrugged her shoulders. "The same thing I've been drinking," she teased with a miniscule smile. "And to answer your earlier question, I'm good. How are you?"

"The same," Nate ran a hand through his hair, smiling sheepishly. "I, uh, have a really good job now."

"Doing what?" Jenny responded politely.

"Editor-in-chief of the _New York Spectator_," he admitted, though his voice lacked enthusiasm.

Jenny's eyebrows went up. Her next question was so astute that Nate almost choked on his own breath. "And are you happy there? Pardon me for saying so, Nate, but you didn't sound happy just now."

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I…" He was about to blow her off, but the look in her eyes was so genuine he just couldn't. Suddenly neither time nor distance made a difference. Nate was talking to his friend, Jenny, and she was worried about him, cared for him regardless of all the things that had befallen them. "I don't think so. At first it was fun learning the ropes and stuff, and then I found out that my grandfather was the majority shareholder, that he'd _made_ the _Spectator_ hire me. Now I don't really know what to think."

"Ah," Jenny responded, nodding her head. That was all she said, but Nate had the feeling that she understood exactly what was going on inside of him. He and Jenny had always been weirdly in sync like that…and he realized with a sense of wonder that when Jenny bothered to talk to him, he'd always understood exactly what she was saying too.

Abruptly, Jenny reached across the inches between them and grasped the hand he'd laid on his knee. She squeezed it and said, "Nate, you've always been seeking something, but I don't know if you've ever really bothered to think about what it is. Find your _raison d'etre_, and then pursue it. That's the only way to be truly happy in this life. And I think you'll know when you do happen upon it; it'll be like breathing, and nothing will matter, not your family or friends, or this world." Dropping his hand, she waved her fingers around in the air, the gesture somehow encompassing the entire island of Manhattan and beyond.

He was at a loss of how to respond when the waitress came back with their drinks balanced on a little try, a glass of bourbon for him and another lowball of the same dark red liquid as before.

Jenny turned away to accept her glass with a gracious smile, releasing him from his paralysis, and started digging through her purse for cash.

Reaching out, Nate placed his hand on hers, ceasing her movements, and dug out his wallet with the other. He pulled out a couple bills and handed them to the server.

"Thank you," she grinned, "My name is Mary. Let me know if you need anything else." The server stalked off, leaving them oppressively alone. Despite the noise and distraction of the club, there was awkwardness between them. Nate felt awkward being there with Jenny, and he wondered if she felt the same.

There was something lingering between them, static in the air. It wasn't just sexual tension either. It was more, deeper, needier; it was emotion stripped bare, unsaid words, and unheard apologies. Nate tipped back his glass and let a hearty swallow of bourbon flow into his mouth. It burned a little on the way down, somehow hot despite the ice in the glass. "I'm sorry," he blurted out impulsively.

Jenny's gaze flew back to him, startled by the abruptness of his words. "For what?" she volleyed back, eyebrows drawing down as a frown lit upon her face.

"For not being there when you needed me. For playing with your emotions. I swear I wasn't doing it consciously, or at least not with malicious intent, but I've had a lot of time to examine my behavior back then. I kept telling you we were just friends, but we weren't. Guys who are 'just friends' with a girl don't let them borrow their clothes to sleep over or lay in bed talking all night. I knew you had feelings for me, and whenever I was having trouble in my relationships I ran to you because…" It was there that Nate hesitated.

Jenny lifted one eyebrow in a silent cue to keep going.

"Because I liked you too," Nate admitted in a rush, "but I didn't want to. I felt guilty for liking you. I always had. You were my friend's little sister, and then you were my friend, and god, my girlfriend's step-sister. So I guess I kept you on the hook because I wasn't quite ready to let go of you, but I felt backed into a corner by all of those other obligations. It wasn't fair. But you made me feel good, like I was a _good person_, and that I was worth something apart from my name and my money. You made me feel wanted, needed." He risked a glance up at her, and felt a rush of pleasure at seeing her looking at him so soft and vulnerably. It gave him the courage to forge ahead. "I'm sorry that I used you, Jenny."

* * *

><p>She swallowed harshly, and turned away as her eyes began to water. Jen had spent a long time blinded to Nate's faults by her emotions toward him. It had taken years and an ocean between them to gain perspective on the issue, to see that maybe the fault wasn't entirely her own. Intentionally or not, Nate had led her on. He'd encouraged her adoration toward him. To hear him admit it was all at once freeing and painful. It ripped open the old wound, and it ached with phantasmagoric agony.<p>

Then again, the blame for _her_ actions fell squarely on _her_ shoulders. He may not have discouraged her, but he hadn't told her to do the things she'd done either.

Blinking away the moisture in her eyes, Jenny turned back to face her former friend. He looked anxious, and her heart went out to him as she suspected it always would. There was just something about Nathaniel Archibald, his sandy colored hair and brilliant blue eyes, and the look of an eager to please little boy in his eyes and smile that would always tug on her heartstrings.

"I'm sorry too," she stated. "I was wrong to do the things that I did. I—I didn't know how to handle the situation, and your perceived rejection. Not that that's any excuse. I shouldn't have meddled in your relationship, or kissed you at your birthday party, or…god, done anything I did at the Saints and Sinners Ball." Jenny dropped her face into her hands with embarrassment at the remembrance of her final strike at the privileged group of Upper East Siders that she had grown to resent so much.

"Hey," Nate sighed, touching the back of her wrist sympathetically, "It was a long time ago. Don't beat yourself up over it."

Shaking off the consoling caress, Jenny shot him an angry look, though her ire wasn't directed at him but at herself. "'Don't beat yourself up over it?' That's your advice? Nate, my actions could have gotten Serena seriously hurt! I—Look, she may never be my friend, but she at least deserves to be treated with decency. I threw her to the wolves! I threw her to Juliet without even bothering to question just what the hell that psychotic bitch was up to. What if Juliet had decided to pump her up with heroin and make it look like she O.D.'d? Thank god that the whore wasn't quite that crazy! Thank god that all she did was dope Serena up with a little ether, make her swallow a couple pills, and left her in a hotel. I am _appalled_ with myself when I think of what _could_ have happened."

She slammed a fist down on the couch, and Nate jumped. He'd been listening so intently, on the edge of his seat the entire time. "I know how it feels," Jennifer croaked, "Agnes did almost the same thing to me: drugged me up and left me in a club with a bunch of creepy older guys, at least one of whom didn't show any moral qualms about having sex with a girl too fucked up to consent. Maybe Juliet didn't invite some guys up to party with Serena while she was passed out cold, but that's irrelevant. We both had our control, our mental faculties unwillingly stripped from us. I feel sick, because I know how terrifying that is. At least I had you to ride to my rescue. Serena woke up alone and had to save herself."

She slumped over, her chin dropping nearly to her chest, and stared at her hands' white-knuckled grip on her leg. The metal cuff on her arm glinted in the dim lighting, reflecting the garish colored beams set on the stage. It taunted her, and she thought she felt the scars begin to itch again.

"Jenny," Nate began, his voice soft, and too warm and intimate. He wasn't going to rebuke her, and that was what she wanted; she craved for someone to punish her, which was why she would never defend herself against Serena. Her step-sister, at least, would do what needed to be done, would continue to remind Jenny of who she was and who she should never be again. His hand curved over her shoulder and shook her a little until she looked at him. "Why don't we get out of here? I'm not really in the mood, and it doesn't seem like you are either. We can go somewhere quieter and talk."

Her weak grin was apparently enough of a yes because before she knew it they were collecting their coats from the check and fleeing out into the night. It was only with the absence of loud, pulsating music that Jenny realized just how loudly they'd had to have been talking in there, and she was a little embarrassed, hoping that no one had overheard them.

Nate flagged a cab, and waved her in first, and he spouted an address at the driver. It was only when they pulled out into traffic that it occurred to Jenny that they weren't going to her apartment. There was only one other option then, and it meant they were going to Nate's. Strangely, as she glanced to her right and met his eyes, she felt no trepidation about that. Nate was safe. Her going to his apartment meant nothing, just a quiet place to talk and find their equilibrium before she went home for the night. It was like reaching back into the past, it felt so natural and easy. Almost like breathing, Jenny thought.

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><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

Hollowed

Chapter Eight

Fandom: Gossip Girl

Pairing: Nate/Jenny

Rating: M

Warnings: sexual content, oral sex, references to cutting

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

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><p>Notes: It gets kind of dark here, and not just sexy-darkness.<p>

Also, I'd really like to thank everybody who has reviewed this story. On LJ that includes: summerofsoaps, anonymous, izzycat2117, and rebecamontiel. On FFN my heart goes out to: DTaylor201989, undercover assassin, BigTimeGleekBTR, XxJennyChuckxX, TheBookAddict, LP-togetherforever, Lizthegreatest, sinnerxo, Darkdiva14, Lady Ravfire, and NoFate2608; and finally, TacoNinjaz on Twitter. I really appreciate that all of you took the time to read and review this. That means a lot.

In addition, I'd like to take this opportunity to pimp out a really cool site called TheBetaBranch. It's a really wonderful project that a few dedicated fanfic writers have started to connect authors who beta with other authors that beta across many different fandoms. The goal, of course, is to improve each other's writing through having different betas go over the same story. You do have to become a registered board member to participate, but it's a great opportunity, and truthfully, the concept works! TBB is still in its infancy, and is seeking more people who are willing to beta. All fandoms are welcome!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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><p>Nate's apartment was surprisingly neat, Jenny thought to herself as she followed him inside, and way more modest than she was expecting. Then again, it was Nate, the guy whose ridiculous amounts of wealth had never really sat well with him.<p>

Everything looked very modern with sleek silver handles and frosted, glass-paned doors. His furniture was neutral and looked comfortable. Nate tugged his bedroom door shut as they walked down the hallway, so she didn't really get a good look in there. However, he'd always been pretty neat for a guy. Her idea of a mess was way messier than his.

She walked over to the couch, and Nate came up behind her, his fingers barely touching her skin as he reached to help her slide her jacket off. "Let me take this," he said, his voice low. After all, he didn't need to speak very loudly in his empty apartment. Jenny fought off a shiver, and let her coat slide down her arms.

"Thanks," she replied as she turned around, smiling a little.

Nate walked over to one of the glass-paned doors, and opened it, revealing a front closet. He found an empty hanger for her jacket, and then closed the door again.

Jen realized she was staring, and hurriedly sat down on the couch. She wondered what the hell she was doing there.

"Do you want something to drink?" Nate asked like a properly trained host.

That seemed like a great idea to Jenny, who was suddenly nervous, and she nodded her head quickly. "Yes. Vodka, if you have any."

"I do," he replied easily, "Serena still comes over and hangs out sometimes, so I keep some on hand." Nate walked into the kitchen. She tracked his movements with her eyes, the open floor plan not impeding her vision in the slightest. He went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle from the freezer. "Ice?" he asked.

"Yes, please," she responded.

He dropped a few cubes into a glass, and then poured three fingers of vodka over it. "Do you need-?"

"No mixer," Jenny cut off the question with a grin. "College parties. There aren't too many mixers on hand, at least not ones I liked with my liquor, so I learned to just drink it straight."

Nate shot her a wry smile, and shook his head in an exaggerated motion. "Who would've thought? Little Jenny Humphrey drinking hard liquor like a tough girl."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Hardly. It's just practicality. When we go out to the pub, I usually order my vodka with pomegranate seltzer. Only a few places I know carry it for sure though, so if we go somewhere else I'm usually S.O.L."

"We?" Nate replied curiously while he poured something from a squat glass bottle on the counter into his own lowball.

"Me and Eric."

"Ah, yes, your faithful sidekick." Nate walked back into the living room, a glass in either hand, and Jenny had a moment to really study him. His hair was shorter than he'd always kept it as a teenager, and darker without the benefit of his sun-bleached ends. It looked good on him, she decided, more grown up. It left his face and jaw surprisingly exposed, emphasizing the masculine turn that kept him from being simply pretty. He was wearing a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, the tails tucked into a pair of very dark washed jeans. A black leather belt emphasized his trim waist, drawing her attention to his still-cut physique.

"He's not really my sidekick," Jenny defended her step-brother as she grabbed the glass Nate offered her. "He's my friend. My best friend. He…he gets me. No matter how badly I fucked shit up, he still stuck by me." The fact that nobody else had remained unspoken, and she tried not to let any bitterness creep into her voice. She wanted to let go of the past not rehash it.

However, Nate must have heard the unspoken recrimination because he winced as he sat down in the nearby armchair. The silence stretched into infinity.

"Tell me more about your work," Jenny blurted out, desperate for something, anything to say.

At the same moment Nate asked, "So how's London?"

They froze, staring at each other, and then started laughing at the same time.

"Oh god," Jenny gasped, leaned over to put her glass on the coffee table because she was afraid her mirth would make her spill. She clutched her chest, still bubbling over with giggles.

Nate had his head tipped back against the chair, and was almost guffawing, a great roaring belly laugh that was making him red in the face.

She'd missed that sound.

When their laughter began dying down, they glanced over at each other only to sputter back to life.

"So awkward," Jen wheezed, shaking her head.

Still chuckling, Nate replied, "Yeah, ha, sorry. All of the sudden…"

"All of the sudden you realized that I was a virtual stranger to you," she finished, her laughter vanishing, and the dregs of amusement in her voice twisting, becoming dark and sarcastic.

Glancing over at her, their eyes remained locked for a long moment until Nate nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"Ditto," Jenny said lightly, and swept her glass off of the table, drinking half of it in one swallow. "So let's do something that people who _don't_ know each other well do."

"Like?" Nate wondered as he followed Jenny's lead and girded himself with a large swallow of his drink.

His gaze was light and curious, innocuous. It made her want to be shocking, and so she dropped her voice into an exaggerated purr. "We could have casual sex and never call each other again?" she offered, and was gratified when his jaw dropped open.

He started sputtering out some kind of jumbled response. "I—you—_Jenny_!"

She couldn't hold onto her serious expression at his mortified outburst, and started cackling again so hard that her body rocked with the force of the air being expelled from her lungs. "Your face!" Tears began to form, gathering in the corners of her eyes, and her cheeks flushed with merriment. "Oh god, wish I had a camera…"

When Nate caught on and realized that she was just messing with him, he started laughing too, though with considerably less gusto than she showed. "You had me going," he chuckled. "That was pretty funny."

"Funny? It was hilarious!" she cried, and slammed the rest of her drink. The ice in the bottom of the glass rushed forwards when she tipped it up too far, and hit her in the mouth. She nearly choked, lowering the glass hurriedly to keep from swallowing any of the partially melted cubes. Of course, that made her swallow too quickly, her head tipped at the wrong angle, and the burning sensation rushed up into her nose. "Damn," she grimaced, instinctively rubbing the tip of her pixie nose with the back of her hand though it didn't really do anything to aid in dissipating the feeling.

"You okay?" Nate asked, leaning forward in concern.

"Fine," she replied dismissively, and popped up from the couch cushion, stalking into the kitchen to hunt down the vodka. "Just had a spaz attack."

Her heels sounded loud to Nate as she left the living room, making sharp tap-tap-tap noises on the tile in the kitchen and dining area. His eyes followed her, drawn to her willowy form in that short red dress like she was the flame and he the proverbial moth, and watched as she pulled the vodka from the freezer again and poured herself another glass. She was just about to turn around when Nate shook himself out of his stupor, and got up to turn on the Xbox. At least there they were on familiar ground with each other.

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><p>Jenny's comment about casual sex had shaken him. It was funny because he'd been entertaining similar thoughts when he first saw the blonde woman in the bar, at least until he recognized her as Jenny—Jenny Humphrey had always been one of those things that was off-limits. She was younger than him, he was friends with her brother, for a short time he lived with them, then he was dating Serena, her step-sister. There were always a million reasons not to give in and accept the unspoken invitation that Jenny had left him.<p>

_And only one really good reason to say 'fuck it,' and do it anyway_, his unhelpful libido piped up.

Nate firmly told it to shut up.

The soft shushing sound of her shoes gliding over his carpeting announced her return, and the couch sighed as it gave under her weight. Turning away from the television and his game console, Nate handed her a controller. "Ooh, so what are we playing?" she asked, stretching her legs out in front of her. He was really beginning to resent that dress, Nate thought to himself. It was too short, or her legs were too long; either way it left a lot of pale skin and svelte muscled leg uncovered, and it was distracting, dammit. He was starting to feel a little crazed as he tried not to think about those legs wrapping around his waist, those ridiculous, glittery heels digging into his skin.

"Your pick," he replied in a voice that he could hear was throaty with lust.

"Do you have Super Mario Brothers?"

"Yeah," he scoffed at her, "Who doesn't?"

"Uh, me, dickface," Jenny snarked back at him, and kicked off her shoes so they laid abandoned underneath the coffee table. Those twin distractions were pulled up onto the couch as she settled in for the long haul.

Nate browsed through the menu, locating the game in question, and hitting start.

"Dibs on Mario."

"Aw, what?" he shot back.

"You're taller. You know how to handle Luigi's bumbletroning around," she replied flippantly while the game loaded.

"Is that even a word?" Nate asked her with false disgust.

"It is now," Jenny stated.

They continued much in that same vein, falling into the familiar pattern of playful competition with ease, at least until Jenny died for the third time in a row, exhausting all of her lives. She threw her controller onto the couch with an angry huff while Nate snickered at her. "I swear, this game went ahead and changed the rules on me. This is a lot harder than I remember it being," she pouted, reaching for her drink again.

Nate snorted rudely, which normally was something he'd never do, but he had been drinking and he was more likely to forego his years of training in appropriate mannerisms then. "Please. You're just mad 'cause you suck." He stuck out his tongue at her while on screen Luigi easily cleared a jump.

"Show off," she accused him, and responded in kind.

He grinned unrepentantly, and turned back to the game. "'You're taller; you know how to handle Luigi's…'" Nate mocked her, pitching his voice into a high, girlish falsetto. It wasn't a very good imitation of Jenny, and she didn't appreciate it, throwing a withering glare in his direction. He failed to notice it, his voice trailing off. "What was that word you used? Bumbling? No, that wasn't it," he mumbled almost to himself, fingers tapping the buttons on the controller still.

Springing off of the couch, Jenny snatched the controller out of his hands.

"Hey!" he cried, and reached for it.

Cackling evilly, she danced out of his reach. "No, I'm bored; you can't have it." Jen bounced in place, reminding Nate of a prizefighter warming up in the ring, as she dangled the controller behind her (though he did notice that the screen was paused now).

"You're just bored because you died!" Nate laughed, and shot out of his seat, grabbing Jenny around the waist, and ceasing her attempted escape.

"Damn right," she grinned, "And I'm your guest, so entertain me!"

"Entertain you?" He reached behind Jenny with his free hand, stretching to reach her arm that was extended as far as it would go, still dangling the game controller. His fingertips brushed plastic and warm skin, and the plastic felt cold even though he'd been holding it in his hands so logic said it would have heated up.

Her smiling face was so close to his own.

He grasped her wrist, pulling her arm forward again.

"No, no," she laughed, fighting his grip, her free hand balling up the fabric of his shirt and trying to push him away. Jenny leaned against his arm, but he just tensed and pulled her even closer. Their feet tangled, and she managed to shove him with enough force that he tripped back into the armchair, bringing Jenny crashing down with him in a graceless heap. Her knee almost got him in the junk, and her elbow dug into his stomach.

"Oof!" he wheezed.

Jenny went wide-eyed for all of a second before she started laughing even harder, burying her face into his shoulder to muffle her cackles somewhat.

When he caught his breath back, he fell into a laughing fit of his own, their awkward position too funny to be ignored with his usual cool aplomb.

As the shaking of her shoulders subsided, Jenny's head raised up a little. Her toes slipped on the carpet, and the last of her weight settled on top of him. Nate abruptly stopped chuckling. All of the sudden it wasn't funny at all. It was…something else, charged, electric. Her thigh rubbed against his balls, her breasts were crushed against his chest; he could feel her breathing, see her pupils flare as her body caught up and lit with interest.

_Fuck it_, his libido said, and for once they were in perfect agreement where Jenny was concerned.

His fingers slid up her arm and over her shoulder, tracing the delicate line of her collarbones.

Her breath caught. She exhaled his name—"Nate"—and it sounded like both a question and a prayer.

The answer came as he caught her lips with his in a gentle caress.

She surged forward, startled, eager, and responsive; like she wanted to make sure he didn't change his mind.

He kissed her back, just as hard and needy, for once just letting himself do what he wanted to do when he thought about Jenny's tempting little rosebud mouth, letting himself take what she offered. Lips parted, and tongues tangled, slick and wild beasts that fought to slake the hunger left to compound from years of denial.

Her nails scraped the fabric of the chair as she slowly grasped it as if she was fighting to hang on, and she nipped his lower lip.

Nate's grip on her tightened as the tiny amount of pain fanned the flames of the want within him, and it pulled a breathy moan out of her.

The only problem with making out in their awkward position was that Nate's head was cranked up against the back rest, and his ass was barely on the seat, not to mention that Jenny was trying not to slide off of him and end up on her knees on the carpet, though that was definitely a mental picture that required further thought and possible experimentation.

His hands slid down her back, gliding over smooth flesh and textured silk, and over her tight little ass until he felt her bare thighs. It was with the desperation of a drowning man that Nate realized her dress had hiked up in all the fuss, and on the uppermost curve of his palms he could feel the lace edges of her underwear. His fingers tightened on her thighs, and she flexed her hips automatically, her delicate parts grinding ruthlessly against the denim-covered ridge of his hip. The pressure of her thigh between his legs momentarily increased, and he grunted, rubbing against her without conscious thought. It was a cycle, because his motion triggered hers again, and so on, the heat between them spiraling higher and higher until he was half wondering how their clothes were still intact. Surely, they should have burst into flames already.

Finally, Nate broke the kiss with a gasp, and surveyed the woman on top of him. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, and she licked her lower lip like she was savoring the remnants of their kisses. She looked laconic, sort of like this picture he once saw of an opium-smoker, but instead of dreaming of things far away she was dreaming of him. Somehow, that didn't scare him as much as it used to. He swallowed, and demanded in a voice gone harsh with desire, "Bedroom."

She nodded, and pushed herself off of him, rising to her feet. Separated from him, Jenny looked a little uncertain, like she was starting to come down from the high and wasn't sure what this all meant.

He followed her example by struggling to his feet, but tugged her into another kiss when he was standing up. He didn't want to think right now about what it all meant, and he didn't want her to think either. Her nails scratched his scalp at the base of his neck, and he moaned. His arms wrapped around her again, only that time there was no struggle. His hands flowed from her waist to her thighs. He lifted; she leapt. Her legs locked around his waist as they kissed again and again until they were both short of breath. It was only when they had to cease for want of a deep lungful of air that Nate began walking, still holding Jenny. "Oh," she squeaked, and tightened her grip on his shoulders. A little laugh escaped her, and he smiled in response to the happy, lighthearted sound. Her lips brushed his cheek, and his earlobe, and then she nibbled on his neck, releasing a throaty chuckle when he shivered and almost lost his grip on her.

He kicked open his bedroom door, and it hit the doorstop with a metallic twang and started coming back at them. Nate moved past it quickly, and sank to his knees at the end of the bed, setting Jenny down on it carefully.

She smiled at him, her legs uncurling from around his waist.

Brushing back her hair with his fingertip, he tucked the golden strands behind her ear.

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><p>Somewhere in a corner of her mind, Jenny was totally freaking out. Was she really doing this? Was this really happening? Was she really going to have sex with Nate Archibald? Yes, the look in his eyes told her. Yes, she was.<p>

She bent until her forehead touched his, eyes falling closed as she savored the contact, the intimacy of such a simple touch.

He rubbed his nose along hers in an eskimo kiss, and she grinned, lids flickering open only to flutter shut again as his lips glided over hers. His shirt was soft underneath her hands, the strength in his shoulders directly contrasting that. Their tongues met in the barest of caresses. Impatient, she sucked his appendage into her mouth, daring it to wrestle with hers.

Jenny was always an impatient lover. She'd never really known a lover who wanted to go slow, to kiss like he was trawling for her innermost secrets, plumbing her soul of its sweetness. She had learned how to have sex, and how to fuck, but not how to 'make love.' That was an elusive concept to her. As Nate took control of the kiss, his hand cradling the back of her neck, and gliding over her thigh she was reminded of that. He forced her to slow down, to savor the moment until every brush of his lips against hers was like pulling taffy. She vibrated with anticipation, her panties damp, the pulsing need urging her to slide forward just a little bit, to tumble into his lap and ride him to the floor.

His fingers were driving her crazy, sliding over the bare skin of her leg in lazy sweeps, down the long length on the outside, and then tracing the ankle bone in slow circles. Then he would journey back up the inside of her leg, over her calf, tickling the back of her knee, and over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, which did nothing to help her condition.

Jenny decided that if she ever wanted to get his dick inside of her, she was going to have to take action. She twined her tongue around his and moved in such a way that indicated she wanted control of the kiss. Sweeping inside of his mouth, she kissed him with every ounce of skill that she'd gained over the years, persuading him to lose himself to it, to her. She took him over, licking the roof of his mouth, and while he was lost in it her hands slid down his shoulders, making swift work of the buttons on his shirt.

He groaned out loud when she began exploring his bare chest, and broke the kiss to suck in a sharp breath when she brushed his flat, dusky nipples. "Jenny." Nate moaned her name when she repeated the action, and immediately followed it up with a little pinch to the right. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and began kissing her there, up and down the smooth column then tracing the tingling skin with a hot lick.

She threw her head back and let out a little high-pitched cry when his teeth took hold of her. The sound was one of excitement, her body riding the edge of the pleasure-pain dichotomy, and she simultaneously tensed and relaxed. Her legs tightened on the form between her thighs, and her neck tipped back more in an unmistakable gesture of submission. "Please," she sighed when she felt his hands sliding over her thighs, moving ever higher.

"Please," Jenny repeated, one of her hands flying to cover his, dragging his palm to the sweet center of her ache.

"Oh god," he cupped her over her underwear, and she arched, an explosive sigh leaving her lips, "You're so wet." His voice sounded amazed, and she almost laughed at him. Those little kisses traveled down her chest, between her breasts, and his fingers moved slowly, rubbing her through her satin panties, the damp fabric a delicious torture on her enflamed flesh.

She tipped his chin up with two fingers and told him very bluntly, "And impatient." Then while his eyes remained on hers, she lifted her hips, hiking up her dress even more as she hooked her fingers under the waistband of her underwear, and slipped them off as far as they'd go without making him move. Jenny displayed her not inconsiderable flexibility as she lifted one leg up and back a little to wiggle out of the leg hole. Her panties fell uselessly around her other ankle, and she kicked them off with a little smile.

Nate made a hoarse noise in the back of his throat, and roughly jerked her hips to the end of the bed. "I admit, I'm impressed, and I'm totally fantasizing about what other bendy things you can do," he stated in a husky tone.

"Yeah?" she raised an eyebrow, then decided the silly grin on his face deserved to be devoured, and claimed his mouth for her own, the kiss rough, messy, and passionate.

When they parted, he was breathing hard again, and he pressed his lips tenderly to her chin, then underneath, and down her neck and chest until he met the fabric of her dress. He skipped over her cloth-covered midriff, and went straight to the bare skin below her belly button, stretching her out with a quick jerk and lift perpetrated by the hands curving over her ass. She fell back onto the mattress with a little squeak, and hurriedly propped herself up on her elbows, not wanting to miss a moment of this. The tip of his tongue was painting delicate spirals down to her nether regions, stopping at the little landing strip of golden brown hair just above her slit. Nate pressed his lips over her demurely, almost, and a little grin played at the corner of her mouth at the unexpected affection.

She went rigid for a moment as he parted her folds, then she felt his mouth on her just where she wanted it the most, and her head kicked back, a surprised little "oh!" exploding out of her lips. It was only after a minute that she realized her eyes were closed and she was watching the dancing colors swirl on the inside of her eyelids while her body was racked with the most exquisite sensations. Struggling to open her eyes again, Jenny fixed her eyes on the sight of his head between her legs, sandy brown strands with the barest hint of his natural highlights. His long, dark eyelashes fluttered upward, and the frank heat in his blue gaze, like staring into the hottest part of a flame, caught her. A finger slid inside of her, and sought that magical place, found it unerringly, made her lose her breath.

Her thoughts fractured, broke apart, scattered on the ground. The world shrank until it was just the flick of his fingers within her tight sheath, and his tongue dancing over her swollen bundle of nerves. She balled up the comforter in her fists and held on for dear life while she panted and moaned and cried out to the heavens. She was on fire, burning alive.

He did something that made her fling herself upright, the pleasure so intense it contorted her body around him. "Nate!" she cried his name, and her fingers curved over his head. He hesitated, so she hurriedly babbled, "Don't stop, don't stop, god, please don't stop."

Under his diligent ministrations, she felt her ecstasy coiling tighter and tighter, until all at once with a last push of his fingers and a languorous suck on her clit, she fell apart with a breathlessly gasped, "Yes!" He worked her through her orgasm until she felt herself tremble with another in quick succession, a low moan wrenched out of her chest.

The next thing she knew she was lying flat on her back on the bed, and Nate was climbing up beside her. From beneath half-open lids, she observed the self-satisfied grin on his face, and the fact that his jeans were undone, barely clinging to his hips. He was so hard that she could see the outline of his dick against his boxers clearly. She licked her lips as her cunt gave a sudden spasm that spoke of interest in having that inside of her.

Then she noticed that Nate was tracing his hands over her dress, brushing the shoulder straps as far down as they'd go, trailing his hands down her arms. Her brain hazy from pleasure, she didn't notice he was going for her bracelet until it was too late. She shot up with a "no, don't!" but it was too late. The wide cuff popped off.

Nate's eyes locked on her wrist.

She followed his gaze, inexorably drawn to the same space though she knew what she would see. The crosshatching of scars were thin, but numerous, like haphazard tally marks on her skin. Some were much older, and faded to silvery-white. Others were pinkish red, still in the process of going away. The worst one slashed diagonally across them all. It was a little over a quarter of an inch thick—she knew because she'd measured it once—and was an angry-looking reddish color.

She started trembling, but tried not to let it show. The ecstasy had knocked her off her game, so it was taking her longer than usual to rebuild her aloofness, her illusions.

Nate turned to her, and asked her with tightly leashed anger, "Jenny, what the fuck?"

She wasn't fast enough with her shields, and tears flooded her eyes as a fresh wave of embarrassment threatened to pull her under. What the hell could she say to that? The scars kind of spoke for themselves.

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><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


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